


Let it In

by aspiringaspie, EclipseAtDawn, fencecollapsed



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Emotional Manipulation, Eye Trauma, F/M, Gen, Gore, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possession, THE EYE STUFF IS RLLY BAD MAJOR TW, Torture, Vessel!Paul, Violence, Vomiting, Wiggly!Paul, bad times, hehehe..... things r gonna get Bad, welcome to the Official wiggly!paul fic!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 72,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24385714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringaspie/pseuds/aspiringaspie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseAtDawn/pseuds/EclipseAtDawn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencecollapsed/pseuds/fencecollapsed
Summary: “Well well well, what do we have here?” Linda mused. She studied him carefully. She held his face to prevent him from moving. “Hmmmmm. He’s not what I expected, but if it is the will of Wiggly then so be it.”[ or: au where paul is chosen as wiggly’s vessel, and a different sort of apotheosis is upon hatchetfield. ]
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 110
Kudos: 261





	1. he will wiggle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which the vessel is summoned. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! this work is an AU that has literally been in existence for like three days but i Had to make something for it. this is my idea BUT i encourage y’all to check out @graceschasity and @fencecollapsed on tumblr for their content!! without them this fic wouldn’t be possible!! this fic is a collaborative effort and i’m incredibly thankful for all of their hard work into this!!
> 
> (my tumblr is @honkyychateau)
> 
> EDIT: i changed some time things with this chapter and ALSO snow every chapter will have a date and time uwu

**[ 11/23/2018 | 9:26 PM ]**

_“...from the Mall of America, to Macy’s Herald Square, reports are flooding in of violent riots breaking out at retailers of all sizes—”_

_Click_. A flick of Paul’s fingers, and the car radio was off. That was enough of that. The more reports Paul heard about this “Black Friday from Hell,” the worse his anxiety would become; his stomach would churn, the nausea nearly unbearable. But there was nothing else he could do. Nothing else to put on to distract the group of three in the car, Paul in the passenger’s seat, legs bouncing nervously, Emma at the wheel, and Tim in the back. 

Tim hadn’t had a clue that his father had gone to Toy Zone in hopes of getting a Tickle-Me-Wiggly. He did know, however, that his father was out shopping during a time in which everyone was advised to stay indoors. There was a literal death toll, and with every passing minute, it continued to climb. Paul couldn’t begin to imagine what Tim had gone through when he’d heard about the tragedies, of people literally killing themselves over some stupid _doll_ , and knowing that his only remaining parent could be yet another among those being slaughtered.

The look in Emma’s eyes was indescribable when she’d learned about this widespread mania, but Paul could practically read her conflicting thoughts: _Who would watch over Tim if Tom were gone? Tim can’t grow up without a mother or a father, he’s already been through too much..._

There was no question that they were going to make sure Tom was safe. They couldn’t leave Tim behind, of course, and every so often Emma and Paul would glance at the rearview mirror to check on him. The entire ride so far he’d remained curled up in a ball, leaning against the door. It was getting late, and though he appeared tired beyond belief, he was too _scared_ to sleep. Too scared that he would lose his father, please, he couldn’t lose _him_ , he didn’t mean to yell at him...

“We’re almost there, Tim.” Paul finally spoke up, breaking the silence that had hung between them the entire car ride. He’d never seen Emma so focused on the road before. His clammy hands fidgeted in his lap as he tried not to show his fear, that his heart was _pounding_. “Your dad’s gonna be okay, okay? It’s all gonna be okay. We’ll find him, we’ll all go home, and we’ll sleep this off.”

A **lie** . Paul didn’t know if Tom was okay. Shit, he could be dead. He hadn’t answered any of Emma’s phone calls. He was in the mall within Hatchetfield that had been reporting the most deaths in the country. At first, he hadn’t wanted to leave at all, but then he thought about Tim, about _Emma_ . What sort of _monster_ would he be not to help?

Paul turned his attention to Emma, his anxieties melting away at the sight of her. A sigh left him, and he reached forward, resting a hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. She was unbelievably tense.

“We’ll find him,” he assured her under his breath, with as much conviction as he could muster.

“Yeah, Tom’s a veteran, he has experience, he’s probably okay,” Emma sighed. She wasn’t sure if she was saying this to convince Tim or convince herself. Maybe both. 

They finally arrived at the mall after what felt like an eternity, and Emma’s heart dropped. There were a couple of bodies in the parking lot, not many, but even one is too much for a kid to see. Emma just kept her eyes locked on the building so she wouldn't have to look at them.

The news had said people were barricading themselves inside so that no one could get inside. Thus, Emma started to circle around the building to look for anywhere that they might have missed, like a service entrance or something. Much to her surprise, the doors to the JCPenney didn’t look barricaded at all. She pulled right up next to them and parked.

“Okay, let’s see if these doors actually open. Tim, you stay right next to either me or Paul the entire time, got it?” Emma instructed. Tim nodded. She went to open the trunk to grab the couple of things they had brought from the house to defend themselves, some kitchen knives, a baseball bat. All of Tom’s guns and power tools were locked up so they unfortunately could not take those with them. But what they had was better than nothing.

Emma went to try the normal door before attempting to pry the sliding door open. She pulled and it opened with ease.

“Haha! Yes! The dumbasses missed one!” Emma said in triumph and let out a genuine smile. They proceeded in slowly and quietly. Upon entering the mall, Paul immediately tightened his hold on Tim, pulling the boy close.

Not only was the place deserted, it was _destroyed_ . Store windows shattered, glass shards strewn everywhere, furniture ripped to shreds; half of the lights were broken, and the other half were flickering. It was like out of some sort of _horror_ movie. Tim even swore he spotted a puddle of blood out of the corner of his eye!

“Emma...” the child whimpered, trembling, clutching a baseball bat (his designated weapon). 

Paul, equally as frightened (more for their lives as opposed to his), gestured for Tim to stand behind him. His hearing became muffled as he fully took in his surroundings and the severity of the situation.

“Stay close, Tim.” Paul gripped the handle of his knife, one hand pressed against the terrified boy behind him, clutching his sweater. His gaze set on Emma next, and dear god, he _couldn’t_ lose her. “Emma, we need to stay together. Who knows what’ll happen if we separate.”

A pause as they listened for something, anything. Where had all the customers gone? Swallowing the lump in his throat, Paul continued, voice low, hushed.

“Our best bet is Toy Zone. That’s where they were selling those dolls.”

Emma was still holding the knife close, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Her eyes darted when she thought she saw a shadow, but it must have been her own. “Do you really think there's anyone left there? It's been like what? 12 hours? If it were me I'd get as far away from there as possible.”

Paul, having not noticed anything, remained behind her, blade held upright, close to his chest. “Yeah, but remember what I told you about this whole marketing thing putting people under a spell? People are literally _killing_ each other, Em.”

Tim’s grip on Paul tightened, and it did not help to ease the man’s fears. 

“Which is why we should be careful anyway.” Did he just see something _moving_? His breath hitched. “Maybe Tom couldn’t get out and he’s hiding somewhere, I don’t know. I have a feeling he’s in here though.”

“Well, it's as good a place as any start.” She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The flickering lights did nothing to ease her mind of thoughts that they might not be in here alone.

Suddenly, there was a sound in the distance.

“What was that?” Emma whispered as she reached out for Paul's arm. He didn’t hesitate in taking her hand, immediately guiding her behind him, shielding her. He thrust his arm out, hand visibly trembling, ready for whatever may be coming their way. 

“We don’t wanna hurt you! We just wanna find our friend! I-I have a knife!”

With how uneven and strained his voice is, Paul had come off as more cowardly than threatening. Tim, sure that this was the end, grabbed Emma’s hand, tears welling in his eyes.

A shadow appeared. The three gasped, Paul attempting to stand tall and defiant. Whatever was coming after them was running _fast_ , the pitter-patter of tiny feet echoing—

Wait. _Tiny feet_?

Rather than a coming face to face with a crowd of trigger happy shoppers, emerging from seclusion was squirrel, scampering away as if it were running away from something. Relief flooded the group at the sight.

“ _Peanuts_ .” Paul clicked his tongue, dropping his arm to his side, laughing nervously. “At least _he_ made it out.”

Paul turned to face the two, running a hand through his hair. Before he could utter a word, however, Emma’s face whitened, her eyes wide in horror. Confused, Paul opened his mouth—

_“Vessel!”_

—before being silenced as an arm wrapped around his throat, forearm pressing against his windpipe, cutting off his air supply. In a panic, Paul dropped his only weapon, not even noticing the sudden swarm of people that crowded around them. He managed to choke out, “ _Emma_!”

Shaking off the sudden shock, Emma jumped into action immediately, focused only on Paul, fear driving her. “ _Paul_!” 

She held one arm out with the knife, the other clutching Tim to her chest. One of the crazed shoppers tried to charge her and she slashed out. There were so many of them (how were there so many of them!), she didn’t even see the one coming from behind and yanking her back by the hair. Another one took advantage of her surprise and gripped her arm to force the knife out.

One of them took Tim from her arms. He managed to escape from the man’s grip, before two more people turned on him.

“ _NO!_ ” Emma cried out. "HE’S JUST A KID, LET HIM _GO_!" 

“Emma!” Tears streamed down Tim’s face as the strangers approached, moving forward, reaching out for their prey. Emma held her breath as Tim narrowly avoided them and ran, _ran_ as fast as he could, his grip on his bat firm, chanting, _“Have to find Dad. Don’t listen to them, find Dad find Dad…”_

Emma stood frozen as she watched Tim run. That moment of distraction was _perfect_ for that same pair that had been chasing Tim to set their sights on her. It only took two of them to hold her in place, a third to tie her hands together.

The moment Tim was out of sight, the shoppers talked amongst themselves for a moment, deciding to let the boy go, that _they_ were much more important. So many of them were focused on Paul, forcing him down to the ground and holding him as they tied his arms behind him. They were yelling _“Vessel!”_ excitedly: muttering it, screaming it, over and over. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean Emma had no idea, and she didn’t want to. One of them picked the knives up off the floor, waving it carelessly in front of their faces.

Of course, listening to them speak caused a panic to rise within Paul. Already what felt like hundreds of hands were _pushing_ him against the floor, chanting the same word over and over and over again. He attempted to wriggle free, but to no avail, and with his arms tied together painfully he was truly restricted. What did they want with him? With _them_? At least Tim was safe for now, but what about Emma?

And then he saw her. Three people surrounding her, holding her tight, _hurting_ her.

“Emma! Oh god, Emma!” Paul tried to _kick_ out at them, but his aggressors didn’t let up. Instead, they pulled him up to his feet, fixed his hair even. He jerked away, gaze locked on Emma. “Don’t _touch_ her!”

“We don’t have one of those stupid fucking dolls ya dipshits!” Emma struggled and pulled on their hold on her arms and shoulders, but they just gripped her tighter, probably leaving bruises on her skin. She looked over at Paul. If he could be scared shitless and enraged at the same time then he absolutely was.

“They will be taken to see The Prophet!” A security guard called out to them. God, even the _security_ went batshit crazy? 

“What the hell are you on, dude?! Do you realize what you sound like?!” But no one responded to her, instead one just held the knife close to her face. Her breath hitched and she got the message. Don’t try anything. 

The crowd started to push Paul and Emma to walk further into the depths of the mall. As they walked through the halls, they saw the true horrors that lied within. Bodies scattered all over, blood splattered on the walls, small fires set all round. Jesus _Christ_ . As they headed towards their destination Emma could see over the railings a huge crowd of people gathered downstairs next to something. What the actual _fuck_ were they planning on doing?

Once they got downstairs Emma was taken to the rest of the group while Paul was taken toward some sort of structure. He was forced to his knee and held down by his shoulders in front of a woman.

“Well well _well_ , what do we have here?” Linda mused. She studied him carefully. She held his face to prevent him from moving. “Hmmmmm. He’s not what I expected, but if it is the will of Wiggly then so be it.”

“Get your _fucking_ hands off him!” Emma shouted at her, earning a painful hair yank and a cut to the cheek. She hissed in pain. Paul jerked in his binds upon seeing this, face growing hot and red with anger.

_“Don’t you dare speak against the Prophet!”_ someone amongst the large group of shoppers cried. It did little to quell Paul’s rage. In fact, it only spurred him on.

“ _HEY!_ ” Paul shouted, forcing himself to his feet, despite his arms being immobilized. The moment he saw that blade cutting into Emma, the moment he saw her blood, his vision went red. “DON’T YOU _FUCKING_ TOUCH HER!”

Two hands grabbed his shoulders once again and forced him to his knees, beneath this blonde woman (who he _swore_ he’d seen before). Under the woman’s gaze, Paul trembled. This was a literal cult. Everyone had lost their fucking minds. Paul knew that something like this would happen, he knew. Judging by the body count, Tom was probably dead. There was nothing they could’ve done anyway. _They never should have come here._

“What do you want?” Paul asked, blood rushing in his ears as his heart thumped wildly. “Please. You can do what you want with me, just don’t hurt her.”

“HA!” Linda laughed at him. “You say that as if you have a choice! But don’t fret, we don’t need her. Although it is good to know she’ll keep you in line.”

Linda circled around him, like a cat stalking it prey. “No, see, we need you for something much more important than your weak mortal mind could ever imagine. You have been Chosen, my _sweet_ Vessel.” She cupped Paul’s cheek and he jerked his face away from her touch. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

She grabbed his hair tight and started pulling him towards the structure. The sharp pain of her fingers tugging on his hair made Paul suck in a sharp breath through his teeth, nearly tripping as he was once again hauled to his feet. The deranged crowd followed, circling around the two as she shoved him in front of the structure that the people around him seemed to _worship_ . Comprised of pieces of metal and wires, it seemed to form an arch, or perhaps a half circle. Paul stood before it, completely puzzled. What was he supposed to _do_?

Then the chanting began. No, not chanting: _singing_. Something about wiggling, and for a moment, Paul really did think these people had lost their minds and weren’t so threatening after all. 

Then the portal began to _glow_. A sickly green around the rim, smoke filling the circle. It was then that Paul forgot to breathe, and oh he was sure his heart skipped more than a few beats.

“What the fuck is that?” The words came out panicked, strung together, as he began to hyperventilate. He tried backing away, but then hands, so many hands were all over him, pushing him closer and closer. Oh god. Where was Emma? Oh god what the fuck were they doing to him? The crowd became too loud, the light grew brighter, and he screamed: “WHAT THE _FUCK_ IS THAT?!”

“ _Oh the plans He has for you and me, me more favorably, the earth is looking good and ripe!_ ” Linda sang out to him. “ _When He comes He’ll come for us. When He comes He’ll come immortal through the portal!_ ”

“ _PAUL!_ ” Emma shouted out over the chorus, desperate to reach him. Oh god, what the fuck were they doing to him?! Were they killing him?! What the _FUCK_ was the thing in front of him?! She couldn’t even see him anymore. The people holding her weren’t paying much attention now, but still held their grip as she struggled against them. “ _LET GO OF ME!_ ”

Wind was being generated by the portal, causing Emma’s hair to go flying and hard to shout over the noise. She finally set her eyes on Linda. “LINDA! LINDA, STOP! WHAT THE _FUCK_ ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?!”

“He’s Holy now…” Linda responded without even looking at her. Her eyes remained fixated on her creation.

“PAUL? PAUL CAN YOU HEAR ME?” Emma just needed to hear his voice.

“ _He will wiggle, wiggle, Wiggly will wiggle tonight!_ ” 

The crowd sang. Paul, staring deep into the _portal_ before him, let out a blood curdling scream.

He hadn’t even realized the scream was coming from himself. Everything and everyone seemed to fade around him as he was enveloped in green. And then...

Nothing. Complete blackness for miles and miles. A chill swept over Paul, his teeth chattering. Where did everyone go? It grew quiet enough that Paul could feel the blood rushing through his veins. Then...

_A new friendy-wend!_

A pair of glowing, yellow eyes, staring him down, shining in the dark. Paul fell from where he stood, whimpering as the thing stood over him. Was that the voice of the Tickle-Me-Wiggly dolls? In any other circumstance, Paul would’ve been laughing his head off, but now? He was speechless. He couldn’t speak, in fact, he couldn’t move...?

_Welcome to Drowsytown, little vessel of mine~! Get comfy! You’re going to be staying here for a long, LONG TIME~!!!_

The thing’s voice turned into a growl that grew in volume, to an eardrum shattering pitch. Paul let out another cry as he covered his ears ( _his hands had been freed?_ ), one which evolved into a scream as his body was flooded with indescribable agony, and he’d begun to writhe and spasm, fighting against this intrusion, his back arching—!

The portal closed. 

Paul, having never once stepped foot into it, crumpled to the floor like a rag doll.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ruh roh raggy...... bad shit do be happening


	2. friday is back for me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which a family is reunited. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for ur kind feedback!! as always, major props to @fencecollapsed and @graceschasity on tumblr y'all are the real mvps for writing this with me uwu (also PLS CHECK OUT @fencecollapsed's ART ON IG FOR THIS AU)

**[ 11/23/2018 | 9:27 PM ]**

_“He will wiggle wiggle, Wiggly will wiggle tonight...He will wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle His way into life...”_

No matter how fast Tim ran, no matter how hard he clamped his hands around his ears, _nothing_ could drown out the melodic tune from the maniacs that had nearly ended his life. Not since the _accident_ had he been so afraid. The only adults who promised him safety had been captured, and he had no other choice but to take off, not wasting a second glance behind him. It was his _fault_ that Paul and Emma were probably dead by now. He’d heard their screams and their protests. He was all alone, with nothing but a wooden bat to defend himself among _hundreds_ of crazy mall shoppers.

Tim hadn’t seen his father among them, but he’d seen the bodies, the **blood** . He’d screamed and wailed, his cries blending in with the shoppers’ own unintelligible sounds. Sure, he’d seen horror movies, but...it was _real_ . _This was real_. Tim was going to die if he wasn’t careful.

His stomach clenched with nausea at the sight of a body impaled on what appeared to be a long, wooden pillar, outside of a Marshall’s. The stench was enough to send him reeling, but just as he considered turning around to run down another one of the many paths in the mall, he saw his escape. A playground. One of those big play places that most malls have, sometimes right smack dab in the middle of it all. A perfect place to hide.

The boy didn’t think twice as he hurried up the plastic stairs of it, curling into a ball inside one of the tubes, staring out the scratched, plastic window. It was cramped and hot, but at least he was out of harm’s way. He clutched onto his weapon of defense and shut his eyes tightly, rocking as he broke down in tears once again, wishing this were all a dream, wishing he hadn’t fought with his dad, wishing he could see his dad again, just be held by him and safe.

_“...Do you want some candy? My lovely girl, my lovely girl. Let's play some games...let's play some games today~”_

A female voice. _Singing_. Tim’s eyes snapped open and he began trembling. Wiping away his tears, he peeked outside to see a woman with crimson hair wearing blood-stained scrubs, holding a syringe. He gulped hard and noticed a man behind her—

No. It couldn’t be. A gasp tore from his throat, sudden anxiety and adrenaline driving him to crawl out of the tube and stand upon the playground. His tiny knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed and fell off of the structure. _He’s okay! He’s okay!_

“ _DAD!_ ”

Tom blinked. The call had torn through the fog in his head, echoing in his ears.

_Tim_.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion, turning away from Becky, forgetting the little girl, searching for the source of the call. It took him a moment but he spotted him, standing up on top of the play place tunnel, a bat is his grip. His eyes were wide.

_Oh god_ . Tom glanced at Becky, still holding her syringe at the ready, her eyes on the structure, too. What were they _doing_? This was... for Tim. Wasn't it? But Tim was here. And he looked so small, and so scared. He was staring right at Tom, stance shaky, disbelief masking his tearstained face. The sight of him was something no good father would ever want to see, let alone be on the receiving end of.

The fog broke in an instant. The doll didn't matter anymore, all that mattered was his boy.

“ _Tim!_ ”

Everything else vanished. Tom scrambled up the structure clumsily. Tim sunk to his knees, gripping the tube tight.

“For God's sake, Tim, get down from there…” Tom muttered frantically, sweeping the boy off the top of the structure and into his arms. He dropped to his knees on the plastic platform and hugged his son tight, tighter than he had since they'd lost Jane. “What the hell are you _doing_ here? How did you even get-” he froze. “Where's your Aunt Emma?”

Tim was still _crying_ . He couldn’t help it. He was scared, he was so scared, and he’d already dropped his bat somewhere in the play area, and there were dead bodies and he just wanted to _go home_.

“I-I’m s-sorry, Dad,” he hiccuped, shaking like a leaf in his father’s arms, his own wrapping tightly around the man’s neck. “She-She got taken...I’m sorry I couldn’t stop-stop them—”

The child’s vision, blurred with tears, managed to make out the form of the red-headed woman in scrubs, that large _needle_ still in her hand. Terrified, Tim whimpered and clutched onto Tom’s shirt. “Dad we-we need to go, she’s gonna h-hurt us, Dad Dad Dad...!”

“Tom?” Becky lowered her hand holding the syringe and tilted her head in thought. Something about this… wasn’t right. Her head was cloudy, she knew this was Tom’s son, why was something telling her to pull him away? That’s not right. That’s not her. What were they doing? Here was this child, afraid for his life, afraid of her. She dropped the needle. Not even being able to remember why she had it in the first place.

“What’s wrong?” 

She knelt down next to them. Tom sighed.

“There's something going on here, Beck. I don't know what it is, but it's gotten way out of hand. They took my sister-in-law, and-” _What was the not-boyfriend's name?_ Didn't matter. If they had Emma, they had him, too. Tom shook his head. “Whatever this is, it's bad. _We_ almost…”

He trailed off, glancing down from the structure. The little girl they'd been after was nowhere in sight. Good. He hoped nobody else found her. And nobody better lay a hand on Tim, either, face still buried in Tom's chest, clinging to his shirt. He hugged him closer, rubbing his back comfortingly.

“Tim, this is Becky. She won't hurt you, she's... an old friend of mine. You can trust her." Tom said. Tim glanced up, still sniffling. "Breathe, bud, it's okay. Can you tell me why you guys came to the mall in the first place?”

The sight of Becky still had Tim on edge. One moment ago, she had that same crazed look in her eyes as those shoppers who’d tried to hurt him, yet now she was normal again. It was as if she’d snapped out of some sort of...trance. He didn’t understand it, and scarier than that, the adults didn’t seem to understand it either. 

“O-Okay, okay...” Tim forced himself to take deep breaths, despite how tight his chest felt, his bottom lip still quivering. He’d backed up from Tom’s arms, but refused to let go of his hold on the sleeves of his flannel. “A-Aunt Emma and, um, _Paul_ came here to check on you. We h-heard about everyone going crazy, and we wanted to make-make sure you were okay.”

He gulped hard, rubbing furiously at his puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

“A bunch of people came in and-and grabbed them—!” he managed to force out, letting go of Tom to bury his face in his hands. “And n-now they’re dead—! I ran a-away and they’re dead—!”

Just before he broke into another fit of sobs, he noticed a figure, standing above them on the second floor, leaning against the railing. Panic flooded Tim once more and he _jumped_ into Tom’s arms. “Dad, look—!”

“Hey, Mr. Houston.”

Lex Foster stood over the railing, leaning on her elbows, a gun in her double-handed grip and pointed down at Tom. Her face and jacket were splattered in blood.

“Lex?”

“You don't have one of those dolls on you, right?”

“...Why?” Tom's tone was a warning. 

“I don't want one, dumbass. I'm making sure _you_ don't.” Lex gestured with her gun.

“No, I don't.” Tom glanced at Becky. “None of us do.”

“Ugh, good.”

Lex dropped her head down in relief before standing back upright, pulling her gun close to her chest. Tom studied it skeptically. 

“Put that thing down, Lex, you don't know how to use it.”

“Like hell! I'd be fucking dead without it. Everyone here is _nuts_ , they killed Frank, they—” Lex paused, suddenly growing frantic. “Wait, shit, have any of you seen my little sister?”

Tom and Becky exchanged a look, realization striking. Just then, a quiet stirring sound came from the shadows below. From somewhere within the Marshall’s, out popped a girl, no younger than thirteen, auburn hair in braids, a backpack upon her shoulders. Hannah Foster’s eyes were wide, fearful, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. 

Every step she took was slow, _careful_ , and not once did she break her gaze with Tom and Becky. A few minutes ago, they’d chased her throughout this part of the mall, the play area, everywhere, in search of the ( _not a_ ) doll, one of which the girl had stuffed in her bag. 

_(She could feel it. Warm. Vibrating. Something was wrong. She hadn’t felt this from the_ _fake_ _toy before.)_

Stepping out into the open, Hannah tore her gaze from the two adults (and crying child?) to see her older sister standing above her. She was beyond relieved at the sight. When she’d lost Ethan, she felt lost. She didn’t know where Lex was, and she was all alone with _it_. All she had been able to do was feel her sister’s presence this whole time, and she’d been in distress, and she was nearly gone...

“Lex!” she called to her. Never before had she been so happy to see her big sister, but she was _safe_ now. _And she couldn’t lose anyone else._

“Hannah!” Lex bolted to the nearest staircase and down to the first floor, meeting her sister with a tight hug. “I'm so glad you're safe, I'm _never_ letting you out of my sight again…” She kissed the top of Hannah's head and gave another tight squeeze before pulling back. “Where's Ethan?”

Dread shadowed Hannah's eyes. She looked down.

“Lex…” Tom spoke from behind them, getting to his feet but not advancing, noticing the way Hannah's grip on Lex's sleeve tightened. “Ethan's dead.”

Lex's heart dropped to her stomach. “W-What?”

“We...We saw him...” Becky said, recalling the horrible memory. “We had just gotten out of Toy Zone and to the cineplex. He had already been beaten. Tom scared them off but it was too late.” Becky had seen a lot of bad in her life, but seeing this poor kid dying in her arms, over a damn _doll_ was towards the top of the list. She recalled his words to her.

“He said….” Becky’s eyes started to well up with tears as she looked at Lex. “He said he was gonna get you to California, Lex.” Tom pulled her in with one arm, keeping the other around Tim. She tried to think about how anyone could ever be that cruel to someone so young. Then she set her eyes on Hannah, who she had been ready to attack not even five minutes ago, over that same doll Ethan was killed for. She was instantly filled with regret, for not being able to snap out of it sooner, what if she had actually _hurt_ her?

“I’m so sorry, I became one of them. I don’t even know what I would have done… But I hope you can still trust us to get you out of here.”

Hannah nodded solemnly. Glancing upwards, she watched as Lex’s expression dropped completely, a deep frown forming. Hannah moved her hand from her older sibling’s sleeve and grasped her hand firmly, feeling all of Lex’s shock, disbelief, and worst of all, **grief**. 

“Lex...”

On the outside Lex simply shuddered, trying to stay composed. She pulled in a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to steady the tremble at her lip. Ethan was dead. What a perfect cherry on top of the worst fucking day of her life. She opened her mouth to speak but only a shaky, near-sob sound came out. She shook herself. Another deep breath. This time she could speak.

“Well, there's... nothing we can do about it now, so—”

Lex stopped when Hannah squeezed her hand again, shaking her head.

“Black and white. Ethan.” The teen tugged on Lex’s arm, gesturing down the halls of the mall, where the cineplex was located. At first, Lex seemed confused, but then Hannah pointed to the firearm, one which the youngest Foster could _feel_ radiating with energy. Locking eyes with her sister once again, Hannah stressed the words, “ _Black and white_.”

“Black and white…” Lex muttered. That was exactly what the military man she'd seen when she was about to die had said. “Black and white! Hannah, is Ethan _in_ the Black and White?”

Hannah nodded. Lex's heart began to lift back up. She brandished her weapon proudly.

“I pulled this _out_ of the Black and White. If Ethan's trapped in there maybe I can pull him out, too.”

Hannah nodded again and Lex's spirits only lifted higher.

“Lex, what are you talking about?” Tom asked, bewildered.

Lex whirled around with a glint in her eye. The dreamer in her was alive again.

“You said it happened by the cineplex, right?”

Becky nodded sadly and Tom squeezed her shoulder.

“Is his body still there? Do you know?”

“...It might be, but Lex—”

“Come on, let's go find him so we can get the fuck out of here.”

Lex marched off towards the cineplex with Hannah in tow. Tom, Becky, and Tim had no choice but to follow.

No one said a word as the sisters led them towards the theater. Tim gripped Tom’s hand as they heard the echoes of the mob in the distance, followed by a few hoarse shouts, some of which the Houstons recognized. Tom squeezed his son’s hand, a comforting gesture, and with his free hand he took Becky’s own. The Foster siblings seemed so sure of themselves. What for? Well, they supposed they’d find out.

Hannah stopped in front of the cineplex, the once fully lit letters above the entrance now damaged, flickering. There didn’t seem to be anyone else near the ticket booth, nor the concession stand. Just a few tables turned over, spilt candy and popcorn and—

“ _Ethan_.”

He’d remained just as she’d left. Sprawled out on the floor, a gaping wound in his stomach, of which was no longer dripping blood. He laid in a pool of deep red, his chin streaked with dried crimson. 

“Cold,” the teen mumbled, slowly approaching Ethan, observing his pallid complexion. 

As she knelt by his side, she realized she couldn’t feel anything from him. She’d always been able to connect with peoples’ souls, but Ethan? Ethan was completely hollow. _Dead_. And it was frightening.

“Girls…. I know it’s a lot to process, and it’s hard, and I’m sorry that you don’t get to grieve. But we need to get out of here before someone finds us,” Becky tried to get through to them. She had always been good with children, she liked them, it’s why she worked with them. She’s had a lot of difficult conversations with them to help them process, so maybe, just maybe she could get through to Hannah. 

Lex, however, was a different story. She was older, rougher around the edges, she didn’t take shit. And she looked so determined that she was right for some reason.

“He’s dead, there’s nothing we can do for him. He’d want you to get out.”

“We will. Just give me a minute to figure this out.” Lex's tone had lowered noticeably, now confronted with the reality of her boyfriend's body.

She sat down on the floor beside him and placed a hand on his cold cheek. She could do this... right? She looked at Hannah, sitting on Ethan's other side, looking just as intent as she was. With a sigh, Lex held up her hands.

_Reach into the Black and White._

Okay, that was one thing for a gun that was being offered to her. She could see it then. Regardless, Lex reached her hands out, feeling around for... she didn't know what. But when they came to rest on top of Ethan's chest, she somehow knew that was right. Hannah placed her own hands over Lex's. The older sister gave a small smile. Her eyes fell shut.

A little ways away, Becky seemed upset by the display. Tom held her closer to his side. Grief manifested in strange ways, he knew that first hand, but this was something else. He wasn't sure what to say, or if they would even listen if he tried.

Wordlessly, father, son, and rekindled lover watched with fascination as the siblings pressed their hands against the lifeless body. Unbeknownst to them, the girls’ spirits connected to a place outside of this world, outside of their universe any other known universe. One devoid of color and sense of time...

_Something was wrong. Hannah has known it from the moment she’d felt an unusual power from the cursed doll within her backpack. Something wasn’t right. When she’d been met with glimpses of the Black and White before, Hannah had only been met with the sight darkness, a land completely devoid of any hues. Yet now she saw splashes of emerald, floating, shimmering within space. Though detached from her physical body, she still felt a shiver crawl up her spine, the hairs at the back of her neck standing on end. Wrong._ Wrong _._

_Knowing that she needed to find Ethan and fast, Hannah focused hard on searching through the vast sea of nothingness, to find him, to save him. He was suffering, she knew he was. The same kind of madness that the mall goers had succumbed to was trying to affect him! She couldn’t bear the thought of him being all alone and tortured for eternity._

_“Lex!” Hannah cried, desperately. For the longest time, she knew that she and her sister shared the same abilities, but for some reason it was so much more stronger in the younger sibling. What if Lex got lost in the Black and White? What if she couldn’t make it back? “Lex! Help!”_

_That’s when she saw him. Out of the corner of her eye, floating in space, form curled up in a fetal position, surrounded by a sickly green cloud._

_“LEX! ETHAN!”_

_Ethan picked up his head. This plane he existed in now was heavy and light at the same time. There was a franticness running in every inch of his form, only growing when he heard Hannah's shout._

_“Hannah?” When he spoke he both felt his voice and didn't._

_The girl approached him, worry in her eyes. Ethan reached for her and she took his hands, pulling his form down to her level. His feet touched... not ground, but stability. Looking at her now, Ethan felt he understood something in Hannah that he hadn't before._

_“Something real bad is about to happen,” he said._

_She just nodded and pulled him along, calling out for her sister. As they wandered the green splattered blackness, Ethan felt more and more urgent._

When Wiggly comes, when Wiggly comes, when Wiggly comes...

_“Ethan!” Lex's voice called suddenly, an echo through the darkness. He couldn't see her. “Ethan, you're there, right? I can feel you.”_

_“Lex?”_

_“Thank God. You're gonna have to come to me, I can't really move. Hurry up, I want to get the_ fuck _out of here.”_

_Ethan wouldn't object to that. He let Hannah pull him towards the source of Lex's voice until they found her, sitting cross-legged in the dark, surrounded by a silver glow. Ethan dropped to his knees in front of her and threw his arms around her neck. Hannah piled herself over them, too. Lex grabbed them both around the waist, her eyes still squeezed shut. Her grip just got tighter until the glow around her engulfed them, too._

Air rushed into Ethan's damaged lungs and he gasped painfully, shooting upright. His vision was fogged at the edges and everything _hurt_. Quickly he realized he was still in the mall.

_Shit._

“We have to get the fuck out of here.”

He’s… _alive?!_

No, that wasn’t possible. They _saw_ him die. Either that, or Becky was a really fucking bad nurse who didn’t know how to correctly check a pulse. Was today really happening!? Was this whole thing just one extremely long nightmare she couldn’t wake up from?! She couldn’t even bring herself to form words, her mouth hung open trying to find the correct response. She could only just stare at the scene that played out in front of her. 

In the end, it was Tom who broke the silence that hung after the initial shock finally set in: “WHAT THE _FUCK?!_ ”

His raised voice caused both Lex and Hannah to jerk back in shock, the latter sister curling in on herself and covering her ears. Adults yelling was the worst, regardless of the reason. It was as if he were screaming at them, like they did something wrong, or was it turning into a cry for help or— no, wait. That _wasn’t Tom_. Palms pressing into the sides of her head, she turned to Lex, who did not in turn meet her gaze. She was talking to Tom, their words muffled. Her sister seemed unaffected — but Ethan wasn’t. 

It seemed as if the both of them could hear _something_ . A faint screaming, as if someone were crying for help from afar. Ethan’s hands also moved to his ears, his expression panicked. His eyes met Hannah’s in that moment, his breathing (however painful) growing more labored, in time with the teen’s own gasps. Louder, _louder_ the cries became, and soon the two did not even take notice of the group around them, how they’d rushed to their sides. Nothing could block out the horrible sounds, the cries of agony, and— the _laughter_ . Laughter that sounded like a **death rattle** , and then Hannah began sobbing, her head aching, blood flowed from Ethan’s mouth and nose and—

_Welcome to Drowsytown, little vessel of mine~! Get comfy! You’re going to be staying here for a long, LONG TIME~!!!_

Something about that sounded so wrong, as if it wasn’t meant for Ethan and Hannah to hear. What _was_ that?

Echoes of cheering in the distance. Visceral howls of pain. Tom stood up straight, eyes darting away from Ethan and Hannah, whom Lex and Becky desperately tried to calm down. Then they heard a shout from the distance, a name being cried out clear as day.

“ _PAUL?!_ ”

Fear clawed at Tom’s chest. “Emma—?”

_BOOM_.

Everyone was thrown back by the sudden shockwave of an incredible explosion, one that shook Ethan and Hannah out of their sudden seizures of some sort. Everyone had fallen to their feet, panic sweeping over them, heads filled with thoughts such as _what the fuck was that?!_ Tim began to hyperventilate, and though Tom tried to assure his son that everything was fine, he himself was uneasy. As he came to stand, Lex helped Ethan and Hannah to their feet. She attempted to soothe Hannah the best she could, but Hannah, wide-eyed and trembling, grabbed Lex’s arm in a vice-like grip.

“WE NEED TO LEAVE!” she moaned, tugging on Lex’s hand. “HE’S _GONNA GET US!!!_ ”

“He? Hannah, what—”

“Come _on!_ ” Ethan stumbled forward, grabbing onto Lex to keep from collapsing.

Alright, so this was _urgent_ urgent. No further questions, the group made a break for the exit as, at the mall's center, the portal collapsed and caught fire. It spread quickly, igniting everything in its wake. As though they'd known this would happen the cultists acted fast, retreating from the blaze and riding the heels of the unlikely team. 

"Shit, shit, shit, _fuck!_ " Ethan yelled, looking over his shoulder.

He was here. Ethan could feel him. The way Hannah squeezed his hand he knew she could too. He prayed his legs would hold out long enough to get them away.

At the front of the pack, Tom had hefted Tim into his arms and kept checking to make sure Becky and the kids were still behind him. The only coherent thought his mind could muster was _what the fuck, what the fuck, what the FUCK_.

By the hair on their necks they all escaped the mall and kept running until they reached Tom's car which — thankfully — hadn't been towed. Pausing to catch his breath, Tom took a headcount. Tim, Becky, Lex, Hannah, Ethan (somehow), all present and accounted for. All staring towards the mall.

The cultists had stopped, gathered on their knees before a tall figure, arms raised. Tom squinted, recognizing the red Christmas sweater.

_Oh god. Paul._

His gaze swept the crowd and found Emma, being held by one of them with a hand over her mouth, her sobs muffled but piercing.

Tom looked at Becky, his mind racing, trying to figure out what to do, when Lex slammed her fist down on the hood of his car.

“Mr. Houston, let's go!”

Another look at the crowd, vastly outnumbering him in mass and strength. A glance at Tim, whose face was buried in his shoulder, trembling. There was no time.

He looked up to the smoky night sky and swore to God, if he was listening, that they would come back for Emma.

The group piled into the car and Tom turned the key.

“Where can we go? Where's safe from all this?” He asked.

“My uncle, on the edge of town. He lives in this huge bunker, he'll let us crash,” Ethan said.

“Babe, isn't he nuts?” Lex asked.

“You got a better option?”

“...No.”

“Alright, uncle's place it is,” Tom confirmed.

They sped from the parking lot, away from the mall's inferno and into the night.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O.O


	3. join us and die.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which a god finds his kingdom. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof. okay this chapter gets super intense. if you can’t handle graphic depictions of gore, torture, or mild v*miting, feel free to skip this chapter!

**[ 11/23/2018 | 10:01 PM ]**

“Aaand we’re _back_. Welcome back, people of Hatchetfield, to the best — and only — station to get all the latest news of what happens here on this tiny little island of good ole’ Michigan in the United States of America. I’m Carl—”

“And I’m CJ—!”

“—and you’re listening to HF-101.”

Carl, a man in his late forties with graying dark hair and glasses that say upon the bridge of his nose, adjusted the headphones that rested upon him, fixing a wire that had tangled around his ankle. There he sat within the studio, sitting across from his younger co-host, who didn’t seem any more calmer despite his stiff, professional composure. _Everyone_ was terrified. Not just for their own safety, but for their acquaintances. There were employees of Hatchetfield Radio who had children, and who’d been planning for _months_ on waiting in line for those damn dolls. It was nothing like Carl had ever seen before. Sure, people died during Black Friday, but this wasn’t just a nationwide problem, this was _global_ . People were killing each other, and the more reports that came in of the victims’ names, the more _sick_ they all felt.

Yet here they were, sitting beside the man who, for all intents and purposes, was the one responsible for all of this. It felt wrong.

“—Our guest today,” Carl began, leaning into his microphone, eyes trained on the lanky man with black eyes, “is the very creator of the Wiggly dolls himself: Uncle Wiley. As you know, reports of violent riots have been popping up all over the globe. People have already coined this day to be the ‘Black Friday from Hell,’ and I couldn’t have worded it better. No one has ever witnessed a Black Friday as truly violent as this one. Our hearts go out to those who lost their loved ones this evening.”

The radio host then turned his full attention to Wiley, hands clasped together, resting upon the tabletop. “Mister, uh, Wiley...what are your thoughts on all of this? Surely you couldn’t have predicted this, it must be shocking for you.”

“Carl, only in my _wildest_ dreams could I have imagined that things would get this out of hand. I mean, mass hysteria? Over a doll? Who would have ever thought?” Wiley said, smirking, putting on his famous toy-seller sailor voice. “All I can say is that I know that I am responsible for these outbreaks of madness all over the globe. It fills my heart with deep regret that things turned out this way.”

Wilbur was always a good liar. He could play these radio hosts right into the palm of his seemingly empathic hand. All he had to do was keep these yahoos on the air until it was too late for them. Wiggly was coming. Their judgment was upon them.

“You know, Hatchetfield is a very special place. A small town like this, being the biggest hit of the mania.” His grin hadn’t faltered. “Why do you think that is?”

“Well…” CJ locked his fingers together and leaned into his mic. “I've always said Hatchetfield may be small, but we've got a lot of big voices. When big news hits a small population of big voices, things escalate _fast_. Mania in Hatchetfield is certainly nothing new, but I've never seen it reach this level before.”

CJ cast a nervous glance at their guest, whose face was stretched into an uncanny smile. It made his skin crawl. He cleared his throat and turned back to his co-host.

“It makes me wonder, Carl, if something could be going on under the surface.”

Carl readied himself to answer, but their guest leaned into his own microphone, cutting the host off.

“I just don’t _understand_ why the president, Mr. Howard Goodman, had not yet said anything about all this chaos.” He let out an incredulous guffaw; the interviewers felt less at ease than before. “What better things could he be doing besides cowering away from his problems? You would think the man would have more respect for his country, especially the town of Hatchetfield.”

The hosts nodded along nervously, both starting to wonder if bringing this man in had been a wise decision. Before they figured that a few words from the creator of the Tickle-Me-Wigglys himself would help settle people’s nerves, but now the two were starting to suspect that he was just as insane as the maniacs flooding the stores. They both opened their mouths as if to add to Wiley’s statement, but he kept going. Their throats ran dry.

“From an outsider perspective, I think there is definitely something lying under the surface. Like, when the Starlight was supposedly destroyed by a ‘lightning strike’ or whatever.” 

Wilbur’s tone began to grow more and more sinister. Carl and CJ’s skin crawled as they shrunk back in their seats.

(Little did they know that he could feel _Him_ . _He_ was drawing near.) 

The guest then held the microphone close to his face. “Or the fact that it is home to not only one, but _two_ hosts.” 

It took a moment for that to sink in, for the initial puzzlement to pass. It was CJ who smiled and broke the tension. “O-Oh yeah, I’ve lived here longer than Carl, like he said, but—”

“ _And_ the Prophet.” 

This truly confused them again. CJ fell silent as Wiley bared his teeth in a smirk.

“Hatchetfield is something else, would you agree?” 

Carl had intended on replying, but stopped himself short when he heard what sounded like distant, muffled shouting. For the _moment_ , the announcer ignored it and scratched the back of his neck, fully convincing himself he was hearing things at this point. 

“Sure is. Kinda like a...an American Bermuda Triangle. Wouldn’t be surprised if we started seeing Bigfoot in the next few weeks.” A scoff as he rested his chin in his hand (was that a sparkle of _green_ within Wiley’s eyes?). “That is, if we even _survive_ this hysteria.”

He hated that the statement was partly serious. And was that shouting getting louder? It was beginning to sound more like chanting and... _singing_. From the look in CJ’s eyes, Carl could tell that his co-host could hear it too. It was coming from outside, from the window. He felt a chill run through him, nervously looking over to the panel operators. Wanting to change the subject, Carl began to speak about the weather, about the trending tag #CancelWiggly on twitter, anything.

But it seemed Wilbur had other plans, as he stood up and went to look out the window where all the commotion was coming from. Carl and CJ were oblivious, but Wiley could see it all: a mob of people approaching, attacking the workers outside, taking prisoners when they could. It was madness.

“You see,” he hummed, “I _know_ for a fact that Hatchetfield is something else. I’ve seen it. And soon you will too.” 

Wilbur had fully dropped the fake voice completely at this point, and Carl felt his stomach drop. Neither he nor CJ thought to tell the people behind the sound panel to end the broadcast, for they felt paralyzed with fear. As Wiley turned to walk away, Carl and his co-host stood and approached the window that overlooked the parking lot. Their hearts stopped.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Carl mumbled, watching as a security officer was beaten over the head by a golf club. CJ felt nauseous and turned away. Carl, on the other hand, felt his rage overwhelm his disgust. “That _fucker_ set this up...fucking hell, you piece of shit—”

He turned to face Wiley, but he’d already left the room, closing the door behind him. Through the glass, he and CJ watched as Wiley stood before the pair at the sound desk, both of whom had removed their headphones. 

“You asshole, get back in here!!” CJ tried to call him back in, making his way over to the door. Wiley merely stared at him from the other side. One of the operators began to speak to him, his words muffled; Wiley didn’t open his mouth once.

“Hey man, what’s going on out there?” Carl managed to makeout. What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion, as CJ put his hand on the doorknob. 

Wiley reached inside of his denim jacket, pulled out a gun, and shot the male operator — _oh god Lloyd_ — in the head,blood splattering on the equipment. His body slumped forward. The female employee — _not Lily too no_ — managed to let out the beginnings of a scream before she too was shot between the eyes, spraying more crimson everywhere. She fell to the floor immediately. Wiley didn’t flinch as he spun on his heel, pocketed his gun, and left the studio. 

Dead air.

“...HOLY _FUCK?!_ ” 

Shock, horror, and disgust twisted Carl’s stomach as he dropped to all fours on the floor and immediately crawled underneath the table. CJ shrieked and immediately locked the door, collapsing to the floor and groaned as bile rose in his throat. He heaved and let his nausea and shock overwhelm him, caring little about the mess he’d made in the carpet. Carl curled into a ball and forced himself to stare only at the floor, not at the glass, not at the glass...

_Holy fuck that’s so much blood. Holy fuck they’re dead, Lloyd and Lily are fucking dead, holy fuck holy fuck!_

“Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_ .” He was trembling as he pulled out his phone from his pocket, not even tearing his gaze from the screen to look at CJ. “I’m callin’ the fucking cops. Christ. Jesus H. _Christ_...”

It took a couple tries, but he managed to dial _9-1-1_ . Upon tapping the **CALL** button, his body jerked as he heard a gut-wrenching scream from somewhere downstairs, followed by the pounding footsteps of dozens of people. Oh fuck. _Fuck_.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. The unbearable sounds of a rioting crowd and helpless employees grew unbearable. CJ wiped the sick from his mouth and cried out, feebly making his way over to safety under the desk, trying to block out the cacophony of torture with his hands; he begged for someone, _anyone_ , to save them. Carl covered his ear as well, his other ear pressed against his phone. 

“ _Come on, pick up, fucking pick up the goddamn phone you son-of-a—_ ”

A beep. Confusion crossed his features. What the fuck? The police couldn’t _not_ be available, they were the _police_. He grew even more bewildered then as he suddenly heard a gentle, feminine voice on the other end:

_We’re sorry. The number you have entered could not be completed as dialed. Please try again, or surrender t̗͛ͫ҉̢o̠͉̕ Ÿ͍́O̗̬͆U͐ͬR̓̏̒_ **_Tͥ͋̈R̔ͭ̌U̹̮̚E̿ͭ̅ G̯̞̾O̷͊ͣḐ̛͓!̲̺̤!̈́ͫ̐!̎́͡!̸̰ͤ_ **

Carl gasped and dropped his phone, watching as it glitched out and _shattered_ . He began to hyperventilate as it felt as if everything were closing in on him. Who had that voice been? That high-pitched, _grating_ voice? 

“N-No one’s coming,” he whimpered, listening as the mob began to ascend the stairs. “Our best bet is-is to break the window with a chair or something and get the _fuck_ outta here.”

CJ, a shaking, sobbing mess, nodded an affirmative. 

That was when the lights began to flicker.

“Well, well, _well_...”

The voice was a strained echo from within the booth, one that shook to pair to their core. There was barely any time to process what they had heard before the locked door was blown off its hinges by a forceful kick, knocking against the other end of the room and earning a scream from the cowering hosts.

In the doorway stood the very god Himself: Wiggly, in all his glory, donning the face of one Paul Matthews. Though from just the eyes you could tell nothing of Paul was present at the moment. Pale blue, yellow where should be white, and red at the edges. Crazed and dripping blood, there was nothing human about those eyes. His grin was wide and crooked, flashing under the strobes, and the Christmas sweater and scarf he wore torn and singed. Behind him his followers were gathered, dragging a woman by the name of Emma Perkins along with them, a gag in her mouth.

He marched inside the booth, casual but with purpose. Two cultists followed him, dragging Emma along and sitting her in one of the chairs, tying her up with cords. Carl and CJ still cowered, unable to see properly due to the blinking lights and shadows under the table.

“ _Come out, come out, wherever you areee~_ ” Wiggly sang. “I want to _PLAY_!”

On the last word he slammed his hands on the table. CJ shrieked. A very brief moment of deadly silence passed before Wiggly laughed, that strained, wheezing doll laugh.

“ _I found you~_ ”

He reached under the table and grabbed CJ by the collar, dragging him out though he desperately clawed at the floor. Carl was petrified. Held off the floor by his collar, CJ stared into Wiggly's horrifying eyes, too disoriented by the hellish lighting of the room to do anything but thrash aimlessly. 

Emma struggled against her restraints, helpless and wide-eyed.

"P-Please don't hurt me," CJ managed to stammer, “please, I—”

Beneath the table, Carl clamped his hands over his ears to block out the bone-chilling scream of his co-host as Wiggly tore into his stomach. The second scream was Emma's, muffled through the gag. What followed was even worse — the _thump_ of a body hitting the floor, followed by deafening silence. 

The flickering finally stopped.

Now it was Carl’s turn to be sick. With the lights having finally settled, albeit dimmer, the display before him was made clearer than ever: CJ’s disemboweled, lifeless body on the floor, his entrails strewn from the large, gaping hole in his stomach. Blood _everywhere_.

Once he’d dispelled the contents of his stomach, a realization dawned on Carl: he was going to die. Was this it? Was this what it was like to face certain death? Tears streamed down his face, the vile stench of fresh corpses nearly making him vomit once again. Rather than do that, Carl did something he hadn’t done in years — _pray_. He was by no means a religious man, hadn’t been since he was a child, but as he closed his eyes and hugged his knees to his chest, he found that all he could do in that moment was rely on the last shred of hope that he still somehow clung to.

“ _Our Father_ ,” he recited, hands clamped together, “ _Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy Will be done—_ ”

That horrible laugh came again, cutting him off. Reaching beneath the table again, he found himself in Wiggly's clutches, dragged into the open.

“You should be praying to _me_ , silly," Wiggly mocked. “ _I'm your only_ **_god_ **.”

He dropped Carl into another chair, the man petrified with terror, and directed one of his followers to remove Emma's gag. She flinched at the person’s touch, tears streaming down her face. Carl knew this was it, and as he felt himself being tied up by _someone_ , he began to plead, a string of hysterical, unintelligible words. He’d completely tuned everything out, even the words of the woman by whom the maniacs held hostage...

“P-Please, you-you got what you wa-wanted, right?” Emma desperately tried to beg with him. “Y-You wanted P-P- _Paul_ .” She was hardly able to get his name out at the extremely painful reminder that it was (or at least used to be) him. “And the-the station. So please, j-just _let us g-go_.” 

She couldn’t help it. She sobbed. What the fuck did they want with her anyways? And the poor radio host?

Emma had overheard them talking on the way over here. That they needed the station for something. And they had it now, killing almost everyone on the way in, taking very few prisoners. She had seen what they had done to everyone else, to the co-host, his mangled corpse laid in front of her. What the _fuck_ were they going to do to her if they had already dragged her this far along?

“ _Aww_ ,” the awful thing wearing Paul’s face crooned, “if we did that, then where would all the fun be?” 

Wiggly reached out for her face and she flinched away, shaking violently. She couldn’t move away from him as he gently held her face in his hands that were covered in blood, tracing her cheek with his thumb, smearing it around her face. It stung when he came in contact with the cut on her cheek she received from one of the mall goers earlier that night. She avoided looking into his eyes. The horrifying grin softened just a tad when he looked at her; Emma didn’t like it one bit.

How dare this _monster_ even show one trace of Paul towards her? Paul would _never_ do this, this _wasn’t_ him. And yet he had his body. He _looked_ like him, even _felt_ like him. But it wasn’t him. Emma knew that Paul wasn’t in there anymore. Just this monster using him to torture her.

“Don’t be frightened, you’re my bestest buddy wud!” Wiggly giggled, not taking his eyes off her. Releasing her face, he walked over the radio host, who was now tied to his own chair by the crowd. The Thing That Wasn’t Paul didn’t take his eyes off Emma. “I’ll even let you watch me open all my presents! And _do_ feel free to chime in, Em. I’d love to hear what you have to say!” 

The hint of softness in the smile disappeared as he turned to face Carl, who was still in complete hysterics. “Slowly now, we don’t want to ruin the suspense of what’s inside!” 

With that, Wiggly forced open his jaw and leaned in. In a matter of seconds, the all-too-familiar red substance flooded Emma’s vision as Carl screamed in agony — the monster had _bitten off his tongue_. Emma cried out in horror and looked away, but it did no good. One of the cultists grabbed her head, forcing her to face it. She tried to close her eyes but another held them open. 

All she could do was scream and watch as the horror played out in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE SHOUT OUT TO MY CO-AUTHORS AGAIN BECAUSE THEY HELP WRITE PARTS OF THIS FIC!! FOLLOW US ON TUMBLR AT THE FOLLOWING:  
> fencecollapsed  
> graceschasity  
> honkyychateau


	4. the world will come tumbling down.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which the truth is revealed. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gang! thank you so much for reading this fic, the au has expanded SO MUCH since we first started throwing out ideas! in light of this, we now have an official [blog](https://wigglypaulau-official.tumblr.com) for the au if y’all wanna check us out!! all new content and other things related to it will be found there!!!!!

**[ 11/23/2018 | 10:10 PM ]**

Henry Hidgens had been locked in this fortress all day. If he was correct then today, November 23rd 2018, was the beginning of the end of the world. He has been wrong before, about a month ago he thought an alien invasion was upon them. He’d nearly gone mad a few months ago with the Starlight Theater incident. Except...nothing happened that day. Life went on. But all that preparation for the apocalypse hasn’t been for naught, for he was correct now! All the confirmation he needed was when the riots began to break out all over the world over the Tickle-Me-Wiggly doll.

He had been tuned into the news all day long with gates and defenses up. It didn’t take long until the news suddenly went, leaving him in silence. That was when he’d decided to tune in to the radio. He’d begun to listen to HF-101’s _special_ broadcast about halfway through, wherein the two hosts had been interviewing the creator of the “dolls,” Uncle Wiley himself. It wasn’t long before it was all cut short, interrupted by a rumbling, which then escalated into two loud bangs — gunshots, no doubt — and _screaming_ . It was absolute chaos as the professor listened in complete horror, having held his breath as one of the radio hosts begged for someone (or _something_ ) to spare him. The agonized, choked howl that followed, along with a sickening wet sound and _squelching_ , was something Professor Hidgens was sure not to forget for a _long_ time. 

Then — he heard a voice, _exactly_ the same as the wretched toys. So Hidgens was correct this time. This _was_ in fact the end.

_“P-Please_ , _you-you got what you wa-wanted, right? Y-you wanted P-P-_ Paul, _and the-the station. So please j-just_ let us g-go,” a woman sobbed out. A _familiar_ woman.

“Emma?!” Hidgens called out. “Alexa! Call Emma.”

It rang.

Maybe this was just someone who sounded like her.

It rang.

But she did say Paul, who Emma had been seeing.

It _rang_.

But it couldn’t be her.

Voicemail.

“Damn it!” Hidgens shouted out, throwing everything off the table in frustration when he heard the Wiggly voice confirm his fears.

_“And do feel free to chime in Em. I’d love to hear what you have to say!”_

Emma was trapped with them. And they had taken Paul, _her Paul_. Hidgens’s heart sank. He had no idea what they had done with him, but there was nothing he could do as the radio broadcast her screams.

“Alexa, turn it off.” Nothing happened. “Alexa! Turn it off!” She continued screaming. He held his hands over his ears. “ALEXA! _TURN IT OFF!_ ” 

The broadcast kept playing, and he was forced to keep listening.

_Buzz!_

Hidgens jumped. The door? Who could possibly be here?! At the end of the world?! Hidgens picked up his gun and walked cautiously towards the intercom.

“ _Who is it?!”_

_“Uncle Hidgens!”_

That _voice_ . Despite the intercom altering it slightly, Henry could place that familiar tone anywhere. Still, he remained as cautious as ever, fearful that the speaker could be under the powerful control of the toys or, god _forbid_ , Wiggly himself.

“ _It’s-It’s Ethan. Look, I know we haven’t seen each other in fuck knows how long, but I really need your help. I’ve got a whole bunch of people with me here, we were at the mall when those_ psychos _attacked. Lex — you remember Lex? — is here with her sister, Hannah, she’s only thirteen! C’mon, I know you’re not heartless. We need somewhere safe to go._ ”

Hidgens heard an affirmative from the girl on the other end. His eyes widened. From what he could tell, those so-called “dolls” had no effect on teenagers or children, only on those 21 and older. He lowered his gun, turning from the intercom, faintly hearing the pleas from the speakers (Emma’s screaming never _stopping_ oh _god_ why couldn’t he get the damn radio to turn off?!). The professor sighed, momentarily setting aside his worries and alerting the device that connected to practically everything throughout his house.

“Alexa, open the gates and unlock the doors. And...” He remembered he couldn’t get the broadcast to turn off. “Mute the radio.” 

The room was once again filled with blessed silence. 

As the entrances opened, the group filed inside, Tom heading up the front as one of the only adults, feeling wary of the manic way the professor spoke. He felt he'd taken on the guardian responsibility, he had to be ready to protect everyone if this guy turned out to be dangerous. 

When they got inside, Tom eyed the gun still in Hidgens' hand. Another box checked on the disconcerting list. Still, this was a place to stay, and they were better safe than sorry.

“Thanks for letting us in, uh…” he paused, having forgotten yet another name, but shook his head and kept going. “I'm Tom Houston, this is my son Tim, we—”

He stepped back with a start when Hidgens cut him off.

“Tom Houston?” Hidgens asked.

“Yeah.”

“As in the _same_ Tom Houston who lost his wife, Jane Perkins last year?”

“Yeah, you know her?”

“No,” Hidgens admitted. “But her sister Emma is a student of mine. And she has shared some…grievances that she has with you to me.”

Tom was silent and avoided eye contact. Hidgens knew how important it was to Emma to reconnect with them, and how Tom wouldn’t allow it, and how much it hurt her. But they had much more important things to worry about now.

“I am not a cruel man, so I will not ask you to leave. But you will have to understand if I withhold from you for the time being.” 

Tom nodded in response.

“Thank you, Mr...uh...did we ever catch your name?” Becky asked.

“Hidgens. Professor Henry Hidgens.” Hidgens shook her hand.

“Thank you, Professor Hidgens.”

Hidgens turned to his attention to his nephew then, a gasp tearing itself from his throat.He was covered in cuts and bruises, his clothes were tattered, he was as _pale_ as a sheet, and worst of all, _worst_ of all, is that he had a large, gaping wound in his _stomach!_ The professor was aghast, and more than that, completely _befuddled_ as to why no one else seemed to take notice of this, not even Ethan himself! He looked as if he were the walking dead!

“GOOD GOD!” Hidgens exclaimed in his usual dramatic gusto. “ETHAN, JESUS _CHRIST_ , WHAT THE HELL _HAPPENED?!_ ”

Ethan nearly stumbled and collapsed to the floor in shock, his uncle’s shrill, panicked voice echoing in his ear. Everyone else had jerked from the man’s outburst, apparently having completely forgotten about Ethan’s state. _Right,_ he reminded himself, eyes trailing down his body, _I died._

The pain from his fatal stab wound had lessened to a dull throbbing, and it no longer bled. Already it was beggining to seal itself up, but the damage was more than apparent. And was his skin always _that_ pale?

“Uncle, Jesus fuck,” he sighed, finding his way to the sofa and sitting, his legs feeling like jelly. “I was in the cineplex at the mall with Hannah” — he gestured to said girl with her hair in braids, who gave a timid wave to the old man — “and a bunch of guys just... _attacked me_. It really wasn’t that bad—”

“No!” Hannah, sweet Hannah, butted in then, plopping herself beside Ethan, obviously troubled over the whole ordeal. Hidgens watched the girl, trying to make sense of this whole thing. “He wasn’t _breathing_ , he was stuck in the _Black and White_ , and Lex and I—”

_Black and White._ The professor’s hand flew to his mouth and he turned away. It was Ethan’s turn to cut her off then, taking her hand, his tone gentle. “Hey, Banana...I’m _sorry_ that you had to go through all of that, but he wouldn’t understand—”

“ _Try me_ ,” Hidgens said. Everyone stared at him, mouths agape. “You think I would have a hard time believing anything after all I’ve come up with in my own head? You see, I theorized this _exact_ scenario thirty years ago!”

“Really?” Lex questioned.

“Really!”

“Like... _exactly_ this?”

“ _Exactly!_ ”

“That the world would start worshipping a doll?”

“ _You’d better believe it!_ You mentioned the Black and White?” Hidgens asked Hannah who nodded in response. “This is no ordinary doll, but a creature from the Black and White who has the ability to put us under a susceptible state that we would…well we would do anything to have it. I thought I knew that the world was going to end when that meteor hit the Starlight Theater a few months back, and that we’d all be possessed by parasitic aliens that would enslave us all and make us sing and dance.”

“Sorry _what?_ ” Tom cut off the professor’s rambling. “Besides that whole crazy ‘musical theater aliens’ part, you know that theater caught fire—”

But Professor Hidgens ignored him and pressed on. “But I was wrong. That was when I saw the ads for the Tickle-Me-Wigglys and I _knew_ then. The effect that this toy had on people was not normal. Sure, people go crazy on Black Friday, but it was the marketing for it, the words in the jingle, the fact that you couldn’t pre-order it, that made _this_ new kids toy different from the others. And now it’s all come to fruition too late.”

His voice grew more manic, more _passionate_ as he explained his theories that, up until now, everyone had shunned him for.

“You see, this… _Wiggly_ is actually a parasitic alien looking to take on a vessel so that he may enter our world and bring in a new age. If he, _it_ , were to walk through a portal from the Black and White into _our_ world, then…there would be no stopping it...”

The group remained dead silent after the professor spoke, taking a moment to process his (admittedly fantastical) explanation. Aliens? World domination? That was the only sort of stuff that happened in science fiction. But in one exchange of a glance between Ethan, Hannah knew that Hidgens’s explanation couldn’t be closer to the truth. She’d known it from the moment she laid eyes on that doll. No simple hat atop her head, regardless of what Ethan had said, would protect her from what was to come. Webby had _warned_ her. She should’ve known. _She should’ve known_.

Her backpack felt heavy, one of those awful Wiggly “dolls” still tucked away inside of it. The energy it emitted felt as if it drained her, and she was unsure how she’d managed the entire car ride to the bunker without pulling out the awful _thing_ and tossing it outside the window. But what if Ethan had seen it? What if it still had an effect on Becky, or Tom?

Mouth running dry, Hannah stood and began to pace, eyes trained on the floor, her mind racing. Lex, her sisterly instinct kicking it, hurried to her side and wrapped her arms around her. Everyone else watched as she stroked her upper back, unaware of Hannah’s inner turmoil, nor of what was hidden inside the bag on the girl’s back. 

It had been meant to save them. They were supposed to sell the Tickle-Me-Wiggly and go to California and start a new life. Now the world was _ending_. The apocalypse was truly upon them.

It was hard to understand, a difficult fact to grapple with. Tim clung to his father. Tom pulled his son close. Becky’s hand rested on her old lover’s shoulder.

“Hannah...” Her name was barely a whisper on Lex’s lips, but she found she couldn’t offer her any comforting words. Her heart sunk as she saw the expression in Hannah’s eyes, or lack thereof — she was in one of her dissociative states.

“So...” It was Becky who finally spoke, wanting to break the awkward tension. “Wiggly is...an _alien_? And he’s making everyone crazy?”

Hidgens nodded, stiffly. It sounded insane. Then again, how could anything be explained with rational thinking? A man she’d confirmed as dead was still _alive_ . Tom was still struggling to accept that, and ever since Ethan’s resurrection, Tim hadn’t uttered a word. How had Lex and Hannah known what to _do_?

Then it was Ethan who made himself heard, and it was by far the least comforting thing they’d heard all night: “Wiggly’s more than an alien. No — He’s a _god_. He’s already crossed over into our world, and for once, uncle, your crazy theories are right. He wants the world all to Himself.”

While Hidgens initially meant to jump in and denounce such a preposterous idea, he knew that now was not the right time. There was no such thing as _gods._ Though it seemed, as he looked upon the faces of his nephew’s girlfriend and her little sister, Ethan wasn’t the only one who believed it. 

Lex gulped hard as she came to a realization. When she’d been in the Black and White...had that otherworldly presence been _Wiggly_? “So He’s found a vessel then? Who?”

Tom flashed back to what he'd seen outside the burning mall before they'd left. The crowd of people — _worshippers_ — on their knees in front of the man in the red sweater. In front of Emma's Paul. He'd been standing with a confidence Tom would never have expected from the nervous man he'd met that morning. His throat went dry. That was the only explanation.

“I saw him outside the mall. I think it's Emma's, uh...the guy she's been seeing.”

“ _Paul?”_ Hidgens exclaimed with shocked gusto that made everyone flinch. “Paul Matthews?”

“I think so?”

“Good _God_...that's how they have Emma, then.”

“Yeah, they— wait, how do you know?”

As soon as he asked Tom wondered if he really wanted to know. Hidgens clearly had some weird deal, to know all of this so clearly and so quickly. _Whatever,_ he thought, _this whole thing is already so goddamn weird._

Without actually answering, Hidgens headed for his radio.

“I...must warn you that this may be difficult to hear. I understand if you need to leave.” Hidgens hesitated for a moment. The color in everyone’s faces (save for Ethan’s) drained completely. “Alexa, unmute the radio.” 

At his command the sound came back, filling the room with the screams of Emma and the radio host.

Everybody was shaken to their core. Hannah immediately went to cover her ears, trying to drown out the noise both from the radio and in her head. Tim broke down, and as Tom covered his ears and begged his son not to listen, he was filled with regret for leaving Emma behind.

“ _What are they doing to her?!_ ” Becky was the first one to speak, while everyone else was too busy soothing Hannah and Tim.

“I don’t think they’re doing anything to her. I caught the broadcast just as it all went to shit, and it sounds like they’re doing something to the host. She’s just...well...she’s just _watching_ …”

Neither Tim nor Tom could stand it anymore. Emma’s howls and pleads, ones that practically mimicked with the ones of the tortured host, had Tom’s heart _hammering_ . The father desperately pleaded, “ _Turn it off, please!”_

“Alexa, mute the radio,” Hidgens said without hesitation. The room was filled with silence once again.

No one uttered a word. No one except for Lex and Tom, as they tried to calm down Hannah and Tim.

“Professor,” Becky began, biting her lip, “your TV. The news.”

She figured the news would be easier to watch rather than listening to the radio. Hidgens nodded immediately, grabbing the remote. Gesturing to the widescreen television before them, he tossed the device to the woman. 

“The news channels have been out for some time since the radio was taken over,” the professor explained with a sigh, hands in his pockets. “‘Technical difficulties’ they claimed. They might be back on now. Let’s just hope that nothing’s gotten to them too.”

Becky nodded, gravely. She almost always watched the news every night. She was determined to stay informed and because of this she knew the most reliable local channels. She turned it to channel 4. To everyone’s relief, the station was back on the air, and they were greeted with the familiar faces of Hatchetfield newscasters, Dan and Donna.

“ _This is Donna with Hatchetfield channel 4 action news. We are here with breaking news as Lakeside mall goers have finally exited the mall after hours of being barred inside. Setting a fire in their wake. Police have not disclosed details of any confirmed deaths or survivors at this time. Or if anyone was still inside at the time the fire was set. We are going to switch over to Dan at the radio station with another developing story. Dan?_ ”

_“Hi Donna. It seems as if a group of rioters have taken over the HF-101 station, after a disturbing disruption to tonight's broadcast was heard. We urge viewers to not listen to this broadcast. There are no reports at this time as to whether this is the same group that set fire to Lakeside. The station has now been surrounded and we are currently awaiting response from the people inside. I am here with Officer Sam Carter with details.”_

“Eugh, I know that guy,” Becky said as they shifted to the live feed of the radio station, Sam appearing on screen. “I'm neighbors with him, he's married and tried to get me to sleep with him. Total scumbag.” 

No one acknowledged this. Becky knew almost everyone in Hatchetfield, maybe too much sometimes.

_“Well, Dan we did send them a message letting them know we have them surrounded and to surrender immediately or we will retaliate.”_

It then cut to real time footage of the building, the cops cornering every entrance. The place was surrounded with what appeared to be everyday civilians, all who looked _ravenous_ , armed with various weapons. An ominous greenlight emanated from the structure, and Hidgens _swore_ that the eyes of some of those people, who had by now sworn their allegiance to Wiggly, were glowing with that _exact_ same hue.

Then all hell broke loose. Shots were suddenly being fired as the officers were overpowered by the amount of people attacking from the station. Some officers even began to turn on each other with a look all too familiar to Tom and Becky's eyes from earlier that day. It caught the attention of Sam as, suddenly, he was taken down by two people very familiar to Becky. The newscasters tried to call out to him in a panic.

"Was that _Gary?!_ And the man who stabbed you Tom?" Becky recognized them as the camera dropped to the ground and the feed cut out.

Tom nodded, but he seemed paralyzed as he watched the live video feed cut out, watching anxiously as the newscasters called out for their crew, receiving no answer, and then proceeded to return to their regularly scheduled programming (something about a rodent?). No one really paid attention to what they were saying. Even the professionals on the television, facing the camera, looked incredibly pale in the harsh lighting, sweat visible on their brows. Tim refused to face the TV anymore, his face buried in Tom’s shirt, trying to convince himself over and over, _It’s a dream. It’s just a dream. This only happens in scary movies. Only in scary movies!_

Ethan was just as stunned, and even more so, to learn that Tom had also been stabbed. Though by the looks of it, the wound hadn’t been anything serious. He would offer the man a pat on the back if he weren’t desperately trying to calm his sobbing, terrified child. Even Becky, who somehow always managed to stay cool and collected, had begun to lose her well constructed facade. Ethan’s uncle even seemed to find it hard to face the group before him, a hand over his mouth as if to hide his reaction.

But no one, as Ethan noticed in that moment, appeared as distraught or terrified as Hannah. Lex was attempting to calm her now shaking, whimpering sister, holding her in her arms and squeezing her close. But it did _nothing_. Hannah shook and mumbled a string of unintelligible words, her eyes bulging as she stared ahead at nothing. 

In that instant, Lex snapped. 

Instantly, Ethan’s heart — which he was sure no longer pumped any blood throughout his body — sunk. _Shit_. He knew his girlfriend well. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“That _motherfucker!_ ” she cursed under her breath, setting Hannah down on one of the chairs in the room. Her face burning hot with rage, she stormed over to the professor and pulled out her gun, pointing it at him. Hidgens jumped, raising his hands in defeat. She heard everyone gasp, heard various “what the fuck”s and “holy shit”s. But she didn’t care. “I’ll kill that bastard myself. His crazy cultist psychos _killed Ethan_ , and for _what_ ?! Some fucking _doll?!_ ”

Ethan gulped, feeling filled with shame. Why did he have to die? How could he let himself fall so fast, _abandon_ the ones he loved?

“Lex, listen,” Hidgens pleaded, staring at the weapon in her hands, “if you try to go in there yourself, you’ll _die_ . Wiggly will have them kill you, or worse, He’ll kill you _Himself_.”

Lex’s grip loosened slightly on the gun, but she kept it trained on the professor. “So? Maybe it’s destiny that I kill him. You know I got this gun from the Black and White, yeah? Some military guy gave it to me.”

That fact baffled Hidgens. From what Hannah has said, _that_ must have been how they brought Ethan. Somehow, his souls must have gotten trapped in the Black and White. But how had the sisters even _connected_ to that dimension without a portal? “You were able to—?”

“You know what he told me? He told me to ‘offer the Vessel, awaken the Warrior, and save the world,’” she cut him off, breathing heavily now. “I dunno about that vessel part, but you know what? I think he was trying to warn me. He wanted me to kill this Paul guy before he took over the world!”

No one seemed to make sense of that. Not even Hidgens. As he desperately tried to understand such vague words that this mysterious stranger had offered them, no one in the room had realized how deeply those words had rung through Hannah’s head. How deeply they’d ingrained themselves into her brain. 

_Offer the Vessel. Wake the Warrior. Save the world_. 

Where has she heard that before? Those words...they were so familiar to her, but she just couldn’t place it. _Why? Why couldn’t she place it?!_

Her head began to throb and she buried her face in her hands as her sister’s voice began to rise in pitch. Too much. Too _much_ . It all _hurt,_ and her backpack was burning, it was burning because the doll was still there, oh god it was on fire it was on fire couldn’t anyone _see_ —?!

_Offer the Vessel. Wake the Warrior. Save the world._

Hannah ran. She couldn’t stay in that room a moment longer and tensions rose. The world seemed to become a blur, her vision hazy, breaths coming in short gasps. The headache had grown worse in seconds and it felt as if the flesh off her back were melting off. The fire spread and _spread_.

She’d practically collapsed in the bathroom, curling into a ball on the tiled floor as she finally threw off the wretched bag. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead into the cold floor, the scorching agony fading as the migraine worsened.

_Offer the Vessel. Wake the Warrior. Save the world._

_“I don’t understand,_ ” she whimpered, trying to breathe, slow inhale and exhale like her big sister had taught her, but the room was closing in on her and it hurt so much. “Webby, please—! Please _help me..._ ”

She couldn’t reach into the Black and White. She was tired. She was scared. _She just wanted to go to California._

_Han-_ **_nah_ ** _..._

She shot up from the floor.

The laugh. The horrible, wheezing laugh was back, echoing inside her head. She fumbled with the bag, ripping the zipper open and pulling out the doll. It was heavy in her hands, buzzing with energy, with fire. Her migraine would not let up.

_Han-nah_ **_Ba-na-na_ ** _..._

She shook her head. “ _No_.” 

_You'll never stop me. This is my game, and you're going to lose, you rotten little banana. You're going to lose, and I'm going to_ **_LAAAAUGH_ ** _~_

Her cheeks were wet with saltwater. A cry of pain escaped her as her hands began to burn, despite there being no flames, and she dropped the cursed toy — directly into the toilet. As it floated in the water, it laughed, that _laugh_ that made her skin crawl with every **hiccup** it made.

_Trying to flush me away, Hann-ah~? It won’t work. I’ll win, you’ll see~ You’ll be alllll mine soon,_ **_little ban-a-naaaa~_ **

Flames. _Flames_ . Hannah reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out a lighter, one Lex had given her (just in case Mom stole Lex’s again). She was never allowed to use it, and god forbid if she was ever caught doing so, but...this was important. This _monster_ in disguise was going to hurt them all, and something had to be done.

Hannah didn’t exactly know how to use a lighter, but she had watched Lex smoke plenty of times. Just lift open the lid and flick her thumb on the button and—

_Don’t burn off your fingies~_ **_Children shouldn’t play with fire, you know~_ **

The heat had shocked her, but there it was. _Fire_ . A determined look crossed her face, and though her migraine made it feel as if white-hot knives were stabbing themselves into her skull, she did not close her eyes once as she leaned down and set the **demon** aflame.

All at once, the agony faded, and she dropped the lighter. A sudden tiredness struck her and she stumbled back, sliding down the wall as she watched the Tickle-Me-Wiggly _burn_ . It was still giggling, even as it crumbled, even as the smell of singing fake fur and polyester filled her nostrils. It was revolting, yet comforting. It meant that _it_ would no longer be anywhere near Hannah or Lex or _anyone_ else she cared about. They were safe for now.

Her eyes grew heavy lidded as the flames began to die out, the burnt remains of the toy having fallen into the basin. Just as she began to crawl over to peer inside, Hannah was startled by a knock, a jiggle of the doorknob. Thank god she’d locked the door.

_“Hannah? Banana split?”_

_Lex_. Hannah sighed and leaned against the sink counter, pushing herself up to stand, feeling dizzy. Still, she listened as her sister continued.

_“You okay in there? I’m sorry about my freak out. I don’t know what came over me. I’m just...scared is all.”_

_Me too_ , Hannah thought, but only managed a weak “Yeah.” It seemed enough to satisfy Lex, though.

_“Come on out when you feel like it, okay? We need some rest after...everything.”_

“Yeah.”

She listened to her sister’s footsteps, growing fainter and fainter as she walked away. Once Lex was gone, Hannah turned to the charred pieces of the doll in the toilet, scrunching her face up. She could see a green tuft of fur, the yellow of an eyeball. Before she could be sick, Hannah pushed the handle and watched everything _wash away_. Gone for good. Giving a nod towards her reflection, she picked up the lighter, pocketed it, and left, feeling achy, nauseous, and most of all, exhausted. She allowed Lex to help guide her to their designated bedroom. The moment her body hit the mattress, she passed out, dreaming only of vivid colors and friendly spiders.

Safe. Safe. _Safe_.

_Watch out, little ban-a-na~ Playing with fire, you’re sure to get_ **_b̗͛ͫ҉̢u̠͉̕r̹̮̚n̮̉̆e͌͛̂d̛̠͜_** ** _~_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr links for where to find us!!  
> [EclipseAtDawn](https://graceschasity.tumblr.com)  
> [fencecollapsed](https://fencecollapsed.tumblr.com)  
> [aspiringaspie](https://honkyychateau.tumblr.com)  
> [wiggly!paul au blog](https://wigglypaulau-official.tumblr.com)


	5. there are monsters that live in your head.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which the vessel is punished. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof. okay. this is a Hefty one. 7k+ words. the co-writers and i were vibing Hard.
> 
> this one is MUCH MORE intense than ch 3, so TW FOR: gore, vomit, body horror.

**[ 11/28/2018 | 10:14 PM ]**

Dark. Cold. _Trapped._

How could one describe the feeling of being used? Not in the metaphorical or emotional sense. _Literally._ To have your body be maneuvered by some unseen force, as if you were a helpless puppet to a cruel puppeteer. Unable to do anything but watch as you were made to do the _unspeakable._ You could smell the blood and rotting flesh, hear the agony-filled screams that echoed through the space, _feel_ as you were forced to remove a man’s intestines and wear them like a fucking _scarf._

It was indescribable and unbearable. And Paul Matthews, now the unwilling vessel of a sadistic **god** , was enduring _every second of it._

Why him? Why was _he_ the one destined to be banished to a prison within his own mind? 

No, not even that; it wasn’t even his own mind anymore. Harboring an all-powerful creature inside of his body must have attuned him to someplace inter-dimensional. Yet he was still present within his head, he _knew_ that. He was trapped between two worlds, and he was so confused, so terrified. Not for his own life, but what _he_ would make him do. Paul could not handle another session of torture. Hearing Emma’s screams as she was forced to watch the horror unfold in front of her was enough for Paul to kick and scream at nothingness, to reach for the blackness that surrounded him, to try and pull himself out of the fucking colorless word that he was trapped within. 

Wiggly knew how much it hurt Paul to make him watch. _It was why_ he _wouldn’t stop._

Thankfully, the “fun” had seemed to quiet down for now. Their— no, _his_ latest victim had lasted five hours before finally succumbing to the damage that had been caused to their body — all of which he’d gleefully broadcasted in the studio. Paul remembered hearing that horrifying laugh, one that almost sounded like _choking_ , coming from his own vocal cords. He wanted to be sick.

After a moment Paul blinked, clearing out his ear with a pinky finger, realizing the sound of the laugh wasn't just a memory. It was echoing all around him, pounding inside his head. He shivered. 

_“Paaauuuul~”_

Jesus, that singsong. It made his stomach churn. 

_“Hello, my lit-tle ves-sel!”_

Paul blinked again, this time against a blinding green light. His vision adjusted, but the sight remained the same — two enormous, green, spotlight eyes, blaring over him in the pitch black, the vague outline of tentacles shadowed below. Paul felt his stomach drop, the chill seeping into his bones. His surroundings seemed to rumble and shake, as the bright light of Wiggly's eyes, his _stare_ engulfed him. 

Well, that was terrifying. 

_“Don't be rude, say hello!”_

As Wiggly spoke Paul felt a seizing in his chest, momentary but painful. He choked out a fearful “H-Hello.”

That fucking laugh was inescapable. It rattled in his skull. He'd mocked it before, but he couldn't find it in him to do so now. 

_“We've had a lot of fun, haven't we? You're my_ **favorite** _new toy! I can't wait to show you what other games I like to play~”_

“I-I don't want to know—” Paul stammered, but Wiggly ignored him. 

_“Guess what? I have a present for you!”_

With no time to reply Paul was lifted off his feet and dragged through the darkness, towards a foggy vision that formed before him. The closer he was pulled, the clearer it became, as Wiggly sneered in his ear. 

_“I'm going to make a brand new world,_ **fuuuull** _of friendy-wends to play with. And you're going to help me, little vessel! Take a look~”_

He was unable to turn away, let alone _move_ (that is, if wandering around via the corporeal form of your consciousness trapped inside _your own head_ even counted as movement). No amount of struggling could possibly allow him to escape in that moment. It was as if invisible tendrils had wrapped themselves around him — _oh fuck, they were tentacles weren’t they, they were_ his _tentacles_ — and the more he struggled, the tighter its grip became. Fear clawed at his chest (inside his head? Was he feeling this in his real, actual body? He didn’t fucking know and it was so fucking weird and he _hated it_ ) at the thought of what Wiggly would do should Paul retaliate or close his eyes. The fog lifted from vision, and as he was finally freed from the all-powerful being’s grasp, the sick, twisted “present” was revealed before him. 

_Hatchetfield_ . Though...it was by no means the Hatchetfield he’d lived his entire life in. He’d been dropped unceremoniously onto the pavement, which felt so _real_ despite him reminding himself that this was all a vision, and before him was his own workplace building. That was what it seemed to be, anyway. Then again...oh, he _hoped_ it wasn’t, judging by the fact that it appeared as if it were _falling apart_. 

Nearly all of the windows were smashed; some of the walls had completely crumbled, revealing the empty offices inside; a neon green light shone from within, and somehow _that_ was what Paul feared the most, the sight _foreboding_ . Even more worrying, it appeared as if people were _inside_ the nearly demolished structure, as he could hear the muffled sounds of laughter, and...of _singing?_ Paul took a step back and noticed that not only was it one area that had been affected by whatever the _fuck_ this was, the whole _town_ was in shambles. Buildings turned to rubble, cars torn apart, some aflame, and everything, _everything_ was _green_ . It was something straight out of an apocalyptic film, only far, _far_ worse, and all too **real**. 

His breath hitched (no it couldn’t, he was in his own head, he didn’t even have a fucking body) as he heard a familiar tune in the distance. That migraine-inducing _tune_ he’d heard countless times throughout the year, leading up to that fateful Black Friday: the fucking _Wiggly jingle_. 

He’d clasped a hand over his mouth when he’d found himself singing along to it. 

“What the _fuck is this?_ ” he cried out, lowering his hand, cringing as the melody grew louder. He wanted to run far _away_ in that very moment _,_ yet suddenly...he felt _drawn_ to the entrance before him. He began to approach it. 

No. _Stop_ . He didn’t want to do this. God help him, he’d rather do _anything else_ , but something was driving him. Something was _forcing him_ to just walk inside, to _take a peek_ . His hands seemed to reach for the doors in agonizing slow motion. Still he pushed, and took a tentative step inside what looked like the CCRP break room. At first glance, the scene in front of him _might_ have been normal. 

It only took a moment for the implications to sink in. 

Sitting around the break room table, seemingly enjoying themselves, were his friends. Bill, Ted, Charlotte. Laughing, chatting, on a coffee break. Except it wasn't them, not really. Their faces were twisted into horrid, sharp-toothed grins, stretched far too wide, and dripping with green ooze. Their eyes darkened and hazy, irises surrounded by ringlets of green. Even closer Paul walked, noticing their elongated limbs, black and green fur growing from the skin, fingers sharpened into claws. Their clothes were torn to shreds; whatever they'd gone through ( _would_ go through? God, that was an upsetting thought) had to have hurt. Paul's stomach flipped. His friends, _mutated,_ void of everything that made them _them._ He tried to avert his gaze, but something held his head in place. “Bill” turned his head, staring right at Paul, while his other two coworkers cackled madly. He lifted the mug to his sneering lips and took a sip. Blood dripped down his chin. 

Paul tried to retreat, run _away_ , but his legs only carried him closer. _Closer_. Close enough to see... 

_Himself._

At the head of the table, there sat another Paul. A Paul torn and battered, streaks of blood and green ooze running from his frightening doll-like eyes, bulging from his sockets, small _tentacles_ creeping their way from behind. He grinned with jagged, dagger-like teeth, and when his mouth opened to laugh, _more tentacles_ poked out. Moving like extra appendages, they seemed to cascade from his maw endlessly, almost distracting from the green markings trailing from his neck and all across his skin. Green patches in his hair. He tapped against his own mug with razor-sharp claws, a patch of fur at the back of his hand.

It was all far too much. If Paul could move, he might have keeled over and vomited right there. 

Instead, with a sickening _crack_ of the neck, the other Paul turned and looked directly at him. When he spoke, he spoke to Paul, and he spoke with Wiggly's voice. 

_“Welcome to my home!~”_

Paul wrapped his arms around himself, shaking like mad. No. _No!_

“N-No,” he said, finally managing to take a step backwards. “I won't let this happen, y-you—” 

_“Ohh~”_ The other Paul — _Wiggly_ — laughed yet again. _“Silly Paul. You don't have a choice!”_

The melody from earlier was back, a canned cacophony inside Paul's head. His hands flew to cover his ears, though he knew it would do nothing. At Wiggly's will, his feet moved him forward a few more steps. 

_“Now, you wouldn't want to miss my favorite part~”_

Paul watched his double’s eyes darken, a horrid sneer spreading across his face as Wiggly snapped his clawed fingers. A single moment passed, and out she walked, like a trained animal, at his beck and call. 

_Emma._

Despair and rage manifested from somewhere deep inside of his soul at the sight of the creature before him — the creature that had once been his beautiful (not quite yet) girlfriend. Paul’s body _(NOT YOUR BODY_ IT _HAS YOUR BODY)_ went rigid, his limbs no longer twitching or trembling violently. That fucking _jingle_ had reached a deafening volume, causing panic to rise, blood rushing in his ears as he took in the horror that was what Emma had _become_ , her eyes that same green green all _FUCKING_ green, her entire form contorted, skin covered in that same _fucking_ colored fur, matted with blood, hands having become razor sharp claws and oh Jesus Christ was she wearing a _leash_ — 

Paul opened his mouth and tried to reach for her, tried to hold her and stroke her back, tell her that _(oh fuck Emma!)_ they’d figure something out. He wanted to kill the _parasite_ that had invaded his mind, tackle him — _it_ — to the floor and beat _its_ face in because how could it do that, it could do what it wanted to him but not _Emma_ and he— 

“...H _e’s a wiggly snig and a sniggly wiggly~”_

—couldn’t breathe. _He couldn’t fucking breathe._ Suddenly, so suddenly, all he could do was _sing_ and _sing_ as the song rang in his ears, loud enough that he’s sure his ears were _bleeding_ by now were this not all in his head _(all in your head!)._ His throat _hurt_ , something was fucking inside him, something was inside him and all he could do was _SING AND SING AND SING!_

“ _A fwendy-wend that makes you giggly~ He's an underwater creature from outta this world~_ ” 

The monster that wore Paul’s skin _(not his skin not his skin_ **not yet** _)_ watched its vessel’s suffering with glee. It clapped with its claws, giggling like an excited _child_ , its hiccups echoing in the space. The _things_ that had once been Paul’s friends joined in. They all mimicked each other, enjoying the show as well. Tears streamed down Paul’s face, unable to even cover his mouth. Unable stop the stream of childish lyrics that spilled from his lips. 

_Wake up wake up wake up._

_“Oh, no, no~!”_

The moment Wiggly spoke up, Paul was _thankfully_ released from its control, able to move on his own _(no just a dream not your body)_ again. 

Exhausted, he collapsed to the floor, breathing in choked gasps, coughing. He was barely able to get a hold of himself when Wiggly was suddenly _looming over him,_ baring Paul’s _its_ sharp teeth in a feral grin. 

_“Don’t you see, Paulsy~?”_ it hummed, enjoying every moment of Paul’s torment. 

He tried to back away, but Wiggly bent over and grabbed his face with one of his claws, jagged nails tracing dangerously over his skin. Paul tried to close his eyes as he was forced to face _himself_ — no! Not _himself_ —!

_“Silly silly Paul~ Don’t deny it~!”_

It cackled again. Paul began to sob. He tried in vain to pull away from its grip. 

_“This is reality~ Our reality~!”_ it exclaimed, poking the tip of Paul’s nose with a sharp fingernail. _“This is what you will become~ This is what they will become~ What_ she’ll _become~ And little Paul, why, you’ll be asleep in Drowsytown when it happens~!”_

The thing that used to be Emma walked up behind Wiggly, watching in fascination. Paul’s heart shattered. Wiggly’s eyes, a mockery of Paul’s own, bore into the ones of its host as it delivered the final kicker with a flourish of its free hand: _“You’ll be helpless to stop it all~“_

Paul was breaking. He tried to look away but his head stayed in place. He tried to shut his eyes but something held them open. His head jerked involuntarily towards what used to be Emma as Wiggly released him, stretching its _(stolen)_ arms, the joints cracking loudly. Wiggly stood behind its pet, clawed hands on her shoulders. She cocked her head curiously and looked down at Paul, something _unreadable_ in her hazy eyes. 

_“Don't worry, I'll take very good care of her~”_ Wiggly taunted, patting her head. _“I'll keep her safe and sound in Drowsytown,_ **_forever~”_**

She just stood there, a little sway in her stance. Emma would shove him away, she'd shout, she'd curse him out. In no world would she allow this _thing_ to pet her hair, to demean her like this. _Not Emma, not Emma, not Emma._

“If you _ever_ touch Emma I swear—”

_“What?”_ Wiggly stepped away from the poor creature, grabbing Paul's chin _again_ with those claws, and he felt it, how could he feel it, this wasn't even _real..._ _“What will you do, Paulsy-Waulsy?”_

Paul stammered hopelessly. Wiggly giggled. 

_“That's right!_ **_Nothing~_ ** _”_

More laughter. Thankfully, there came Paul’s saving grace: a muffled sound, someone speaking, from outside whatever this void was. The vision around them dissipated, Emma along with it, returning to blackness. Paul let out a long breath, relieved that he was no longer in Wiggly’s own personal hell. All too quickly, however, he realized that Wiggly was still here, and Paul barely held himself together as _it_ looked off into the emptiness before turning back with a sick grin. 

_“Now, be a good little vessel,”_ it purred, moving over Paul’s scared form, _“and go to sleep. We'll play again later~”_

Another pinch of Paul's nose from those claws, and Wiggly vanished. 

Paul was alone again. Blessedly _alone._

Never before had he been happier to be alone, shrouded in complete darkness, than there and then, trapped somewhere between his mind and someplace not even within his own universe. He felt as if he were still shaking, but it wasn’t _real_ , it wasn’t _real_ , and he had to keep telling himself that. It hardly mattered though, for in seconds, his shape upon the non-physical plane ceased to exist as Wiggly took the reins. Paul once again felt as if he were an audience member to a repulsive, _sickening_ show, only able to observe through his _own eyes_ as this thing that claimed to be a **god** controlled him. Forced him to do the absolute unthinkable to all of those poor employees at HF-101. 

And _Emma_ , poor Emma, has been locked away in some room in the building. All alone, as the man she’d _trusted_ (perhaps even _loved_ ) was used as a vessel for Wiggly’s twisted games. 

The worst of it all? Paul not only bore witness to it, but he was aware of every aspect of it. He could _feel_ the sensation of miry intestines in his hands, _hear_ the screams and endless pleading for their lives, _smell_ the stench of decaying corpses, _taste_ the blood, oh god, he could _taste it—!_

Liquid continued to stream from his eyes. A part of Paul was _certain_ it wasn’t tears. 

Unable to observe the absolute living hell any longer, Paul retreated into the far corners of his mind, shutting himself off completely. Before, the **monster** had forced him to watch it _all_ . This time, Wiggly didn’t even seem aware that Paul was present, as if it was occupied at the moment. _Perfect_. Paul desperately needed peace, regardless of how long. 

For now, he allowed himself to drift away into the darkness...

It was nice there. Quiet. A place where he could find peace and gather himself before the next round started again. After a few moments Paul heard an echo, muffled, unable to actually make anything out. He feared he was already being pulled back in. 

_“Paul?”_

He heard it more clearly then, a voice, but not one he recognized. If this was another one of Wiggly’s games he swore to _god_ —

_“Paul Matthews?”_

A light started to come into his vision, slowly forming the outline of a body. Paul found himself fixated on it, unable to turn away not by force this time, but by curiosity. Is this what dying people meant when they said they could see the light? Was he finally dying? And was that good or bad? He didn’t know. The outline became clearer, in the form of...a _man_. A man in all black military gear, with flowing brown hair and a beard. He looked rough around the edges, but soft and kind at the same time. 

Okay. So he _was_ dead. Jesus himself stood in front of him. 

“Can you hear me Paul?” he asked, his tone firm. Paul nodded, still drifting in the empty space. “Paul, my name is General John McNamara of the United States military special unit P.E.I.P, we call it ‘peep.’” 

Paul blinked, becoming more aware of what was happening, centering himself. Okay then. Not dead. “ _PEIP_? I’ve never heard of you guys.” 

“And you were never supposed to, not a _peep_ ,” McNamara said with a wink. 

What the _hell_ was going on? 

“Okay, okay, _wait_...so if you’re here, in my head,” Paul started, trying to grasp the situation, “and you’re with the military...does that mean Wiggly is being taken down and I’m waking up?” 

Paul was desperately holding on to any bit of hope he could. Yet, as he met the general’s solemn gaze, his heart already began to sink.

“Unfortunately not.”

_Fuck._

“ _Okay,_ ” Paul huffed, trying desperately to understand, “then how are you here?” 

General McNamara paused, turning his head from Paul, staring off into the _black._ “I myself had a confrontation with Wiggly. I went through a portal into the dimension between dimensions: the Black and White. This dimension is Wiggly’s home, and it is what you had been forced through.” 

Paul’s eyes widened. That _portal..._

“My mind is connected to that Black and White dimension then...? That’s what this place is?” Paul asked, earning a nod from McNamara. The reality of it all was unbelievable and completely extraordinary, but compared to everything he had seen, nothing seemed too strange or out of the ordinary anymore. More questions remained unanswered, and so he pressed on. “Then how are _you_ here?”

For the first time in their encounter, McNamara hesitated. “I entered the Black and White without a suit during a... _heated_ situation.”

His brows furrowed, the story deeply troubling for him. Paul remained quiet, listening intently.

“My being faded into nothingness, and I am now one with the Black and White. I was hoping to stop _Him_ before He reached you. You see Paul…”

More hesitation. The anticipation was too much for Paul to handle. This man, this _general_ , was his only hope of learning about how to stop Wiggly, and not one second could be wasted.

Finally, the general continued: “We at PEIP have known about you for quite some time. That you, Paul Matthews, were _Chosen_ long ago to help bring Wiggly into our world.”

Chosen. Chosen. _Chosen._ Everything came to a screeching _halt._ McNamara’s words echoed in Paul’s head, over and over, and it seemed as if the void they were suspended in was shaking with his anxiety. His breathing — artificial or not, he didn’t _care_ — grew ragged. It was always meant to happen? _This was his destiny?!_

“I had wished to never see this day,” McNamara continued, sensing Paul’s fear and confusion, “but He is upon us. And I am sorry we were not able to stop him from taking you but not all hope is lost, and I am here to guide you through this plane of existence.”

Somehow, the general seemed cool and collected, threatening but kind hearted. He seemed _familiar_ somehow. 

But Paul was still hanging onto those words he had said, about them knowing that Paul was going to be _used_ like this. He’d barely heard the rest of what the man had said with how his head _pounded._ Just when he thought he’d found someone that could’ve potentially saved him from this _nightmare_ come true, he’d been betrayed.

“You knew...? You _knew?!_ ” 

Having once again gained a form within this realm, he balled up his fists, his face growing _hot_ . He cared not if his body at the moment was just an image created in his head, that he was completely disconnected from the physical world — he was fucking _pissed_. 

The image of his form _flickered_ as he growled, “You _knew_ and didn’t do anything? Didn’t try to warn me before Black Friday, when everyone lost their fucking minds over those _dolls?!_ ” 

It seemed as if McNamara had expected this, his expression remaining as stone cold as possible. 

“Listen to me, son,” the general began, “you wouldn’t have understood. You would’ve thought I was crazy. Besides, we’re not supposed to intervene until we know for sure that a crisis is happening.” 

Paul scoffed, turning from the other. “Then why hasn’t anyone tried to stop me — _it_ — from taking over the world?” 

A beat as John collected himself. Whatever he was going to say, it took a tremendous amount of effort. “I’m...not sure how many of us are left. There’s a group protecting President Goodman now, but...it appears as if many of us on the east coast are _gone_.” 

All at once, everything settled. Paul felt as if his heart had stopped.

“I should be gone with them too. I should have been there, they never would have wanted me to step through the portal.” 

McNamara took a pause and sighed. 

“But the experiences I’ve endured throughout my tenure with this organization has given me a deeper understanding of the cosmos and our place in it. I follow a higher law than institution could decree, and _that_ is the universal truth of love and the strength of the _human heart_.”

Paul, regretting his outburst, faced McNamara again. The man stood tall, determined.

“And that is how you can help, Paul. You have to align your soul with what’s good and right, and join the only fight that’s left.”

God, Paul was more than eager to help. Yet he felt completely useless, a _prisoner_ in his own head, and as his frustration built once more, he asked, “What do you want from me? I don’t even have a body, even inside my own head Wiggly can control what I do. I have no power here!” 

Paul _really_ thought this man could give him some real guidance, but here he was rambling on about goodness and love and what the _fuck_ was he supposed to do with that?!

“Paul,” McNamara boomed, stepping closer to him, hands grasping Paul’s shoulders. “Look me in the eye now, son. And make a solemn vow to become your best self now. Wiggly doesn’t understand people who do good simply because it is the right thing to do. I know our opponent requires _nothing less_ than your absolute best.”

“You see Paul, there are monsters and there are men, and there are monsters that live in your head. But it is the monsters that shall live in dread, so join the fight and try your might.” 

McNamara was oddly poetic with the way he spoke, but it was with such confidence that Paul’s nerves began to calm. He was starting to understand what he meant. For the first time since Wiggly had come through, he finally felt like there was something he could do about it. That maybe the fight _wasn’t_ over yet.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Keep Wiggly busy,” the general said, glancing off into the distance, suddenly fearful. “I don’t want your suffering to be for nothing, but if you fight back, if you _distract_ him long enough for me to reach the other vessel, then we have a chance to free you and everyone else under the spell.”

Paul froze. _Other vessel?_

“Wait wait what do you mean _other_ vessel?!” Paul exclaimed, arms wrapped around himself. “Who _else_ is out there?!” 

There was _another one?!_ Was McNamara actually going to give this one a heads up? How much danger were they in if Wiggly already had Paul?

Before McNamara could answer, everything came crumbling down.

**_“YOU!”_ **

Wiggly’s voice growled and echoed. There was a sudden rumbling (that is, if a void could _have_ rumblings) and McNamara started getting further away from his vision. Paul tried to reach for him, but something was _rapidly_ pulling him away. Fuck. Oh, fuck no, not _now!_

“General McNamara! What do you mean _other vessel?!_ ” Paul shouted across the darkness, praying that he could be heard..

“Remember what I said!” he cried, faintly. “Keep Wiggly distracted! Don’t let him corrupt you! _Keep your soul intact!_ ” 

And just like that, the source of Paul’s only remaining hope was _gone_.

The tendrils, the _tentacles_ , had slithered around his consciousness, and as he saw those large, glowing eyes in the sea of nothingness, Paul knew he was _fucked_ . The grip around him _tightened_ , almost as if Wiggly were suffocating him, and while he knew his real body was breathing just fine, it seemed as if his lungs were fighting for air. It was in this weakened state that the thing inhabiting him drew its host closer, _closer_ , until the bright yellow light of its doll-like eyes was blinding. No amount of effort allowed Paul to shield himself. He was like a rag doll in Wiggly’s grasp.

When it addressed him this time, Paul was absolutely _horrified_ . Its voice was distorted, tone deeper, **demonic** . There was hardly any trace of the sickly sweet voice he’d grown so accustomed to. It was **_furious_ **.

**_“IT ISN’T VERY NICE OF MY BESTEST FRIENDY-WEND TO TALK ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK.”_ **

_Squeeze_ . Paul choked as Wiggly’s hold on him tightened, _tightened_...

**_“I NEED TO KEEP A BETTER EYE ON YOU, PAULSY-WAULSY. I THINK WHAT YOU NEED NOW IS TO FACE THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS.”_ **

Another rumbling. Breathing wasn’t an option at this point. Just as the voice of that strange general had faded, Wiggly’s voice began to drift away as Paul was drowning, drowning...

**_“SEE FOR YOURSELF, MY LI-TTLE VESSEL! SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE! COME BACK WHEN YOU’RE READY TO APOLOGIZE TO YOUR BESTEST BUDDY-WUD…”_ **

* * *

_“Is he waking up...?”_

_“Yeah, soon as he stops shakin’ the real guy’ll be back.”_

_“How long must we watch him for until Our Lord returns?”_

_“Don’t you worry none. soon as the Host sees all this, he’ll want nothin’ more than to go right back, soon as possible—”_

A _gasp_ . He was back. Paul had been thrown back into control, into the _real world_ , the sensation not unlike being doused in cold water. He tried to remember what that general had told him, tried to remember the _other vessel,_ about the strength of the _human heart_ , but everything was _so much._ Immediately, every single sense overwhelmed him at once. The material of the chair he sat in, the _putrid_ stench that pervaded the air, the sight of _blood_ —!

Paul’s limbs shook uncontrollably as he managed to spin his chair around, and upon seeing what was piled in the corner of the studio, promptly jerked to the side and violently threw up.

A pile of corpses, some more intact than others. Most of them had been completely torn apart, limbs strewn everywhere. There was red everywhere, red on his fucking clothes and _shit_ , his stomach lurched once again, the bile rising, an awfully _metallic_ taste in his mouth, oh _fuck_ it was so _much_.

Panting, Paul wiped his mouth and sat as upright as his frail body could. His stomach churned and ached, and it occurred to him that _he hadn’t eaten anything in...in..._

How long had it been?

“Well, good mornin’, Sleepin’ Beauty.”

_That voice_ . Paul blinked the tears ( _blood? was it fucking_ **_blood_ ** _?_ ) from his eyes, and turned to the owner of the voice. _Him_. That bastard. Uncle Wiley. The maker of the Tickle-Me-Wiggly dolls — or so he claimed. Having watched Wiggly’s interactions with the man from the backseat of his consciousness, Paul knew better than to trust the man before him.

“Y-You...” Paul struggled to speak. His throat felt _raw_ , his mouth dry as sandpaper. 

Wiley merely smiled, and Paul had never wanted to punch a man so hard in his _life_. 

Behind him, in front of the door, stood two familiar faces. The one was that Hatchetfield lawyer, the one with the funny voice, and beside him was the man in the trench coat who always treated Emma like shit at Beanie’s. Only now...both of them were noticeably disheveled, their clothes tattered, and their gazes remained solely on _him_. Paul shivered. Then, the door opened, someone new walking in, and when they spoke—

“Wiley, get someone to clean up that bile, it stinks in here as is.”

“ _YOU?!_ ”

Jumping to his feet had been a mistake, as his vision suddenly darkened. His hand shot out to grasp the desk for support, his balance unstable. Though he struggled to stand upright, the moment Paul regained his vision and was significantly less lightheaded, he returned his attention back to the very person who’d gotten him into this mess.

“It’s _your_ fault,” he accused, pointing a shaking finger at the blonde woman, the one who’d _dragged him_ to the portal in the mall, his hoarse voice hardly threatening. Perhaps that was why she merely smirked at him, something which only served to fuel his anger. 

Before he could even attempt attacking her, Wiley stepped in, grabbing Paul’s wrists (had they always been that _bony_ ?). “Hey _hey_ , now, lil’ buddy, take it easy.”

“Don’t _touch me_ .” Paul yanked his hands away, eye-to-eye with the man. His body still shook uncontrollably, but despite his feeble state he still felt as if he could stand up to them all. “What the fuck do you _want_ with me?”

_Why did it have to be him?_

“Simmer down now, Paul.” Wiley moved slower, circling to Paul's side to wrap an arm around his trembling shoulders. “You gotta start seein’ this as the _gift_ that it is. You're special, one in a million. Of everyone on this planet, He chose _you_ to carry His essence. Plenty would kill to be in your shoes right about now. Be _honored_.”

What Paul had experienced these last few — _hours?_ Days? He couldn't be sure how much time had passed — certainly didn't feel like a gift. Paul could not banish McNamara’s haunting words from his mind: _“You were Chosen long ago to help bring Wiggly into our world.”_

What had he ever _done_ to deserve this? Something out there had it out for him, he was sure. Not that he could possibly know what he'd done wrong, let alone atone for it. All he could do was shake his head weakly, stammering out an incomprehensible protest. He was fucking _weak._

“Christ, Wiley, will you stop his blubbering?” the woman — _Linda_ , Paul recalled from observing Wiggly’s interactions with them — complained.

Wiley dismissed her. He couldn't have the salt of her tone spoiling his honey. Paul would not take his gaze off of her, furiously wiping at the _blood_ that seemed to flow continuously from his eyes.

“Take a breath now, Paul,” Wiley hummed, in a manner that was eerily soothing. “What's goin’ on in that head of yours? What's keepin’ you from opening your heart up to His _love_?”

Paul gritted his teeth, snapping, “Besides fucking _everything?_ ”

Wiley chuckled. Soft, _subdued_. If Paul didn’t know better, he might've found it charming. There was no question how this man had won the country's trust, though that didn't make a difference now.

“Ain't no sense in keepin' it in. Ask the question, Paul, we all know you want to.”

Paul looked down. He shouldn't, he knew he shouldn't, but it would kill him to stay in the dark. He had to know.

“Everything it made me do…” He casted a regretful glance at the bodies piled in the corner, discarded without care. “I want to know where Emma is. What did you do to her?”

Another chuckle. Wiley jostled Paul a bit, like he was proud. “Don't you worry about Emma. Your sweetheart's fine, just a little shook up. Had to put her away, let her calm down. Soon as she's ready to behave, she can come out.”

“ _No_ ,” Paul said with a voice as steady as he could possibly manage. “If I’m like your god or whatever then _you_ have to do what _I_ say, right? I’m going to see Emma.”

He only managed to get one step before Wiley forcibly cut him off, gripping him tight and probably bruising his sensitive skin. Paul winced.

“That’s not how things work around here, Paul.” Wiley narrowed his eyes with a sly smile and kept him in place. “We don’t have to do anythin’ for _you_. Wiggly only let you back to make sure you don’t go causing trouble up in that head o’ yours.”

Paul blanched. Had his outburst with McNamara alerted Wiggly? Fuck. He’d fucked it all up. _Fuck fuck._

“And we’re here to watch you to make sure you don’t try and run off,” Wiley continued, before chuckling. “Well, not like you would get far anyways, but you get the point.”

Before Paul could respond, Wiley was walking him towards the window. Whatever was out there, Paul didn't want to see. He was sure he'd seen enough for a lifetime already. But so weak and disoriented, there wasn't much he could do to keep from moving, especially when Wiley grabbed his face and turned his head by force.

From the window, high up in the radio station, he could see the carnage of the streets below. Wrecked cars, broken windows, clouds of smoke in the air from the blazing fires Paul could see in the distance. Even more bodies of those who had failed to escape. Odd symbols painted in blood on the asphalt. Some people — more worshippers, Paul assumed — had gathered outside the building's doors, knowing their God was inside, likely for a ritual of some sort. The horror racking Paul's bones only grew worse with every detail he processed.

“She's a strong one, your girl,” Wiley was saying. “Stronger’n most. What we’re doin’ here, Paul, what _you_ are bringing about, is the birth of a new world. A stronger world, culled of the weak and cowardly. A world in His image.” With a sly grin, Wiley patted Paul's chest. “In _your_ image. And Emma? She'll do just _fine_ in it.”

_Your image._

As if Paul hadn’t already been struggling just to stand, those words nearly caused his knees to buckle beneath him. Steadying himself, he gripped the windowsill as tightly as he could, watching the horrors of the outside world. He knew he had to stay strong. Meeting McNamara in the Black and White had given him something to fight for, to grasp that sliver of hope that perhaps the world wasn’t completely doomed. He still struggled to wrap his head around the fact that he was _always_ meant to be Wiggly’s vessel, the many _implications_ of such a destiny running through his troubled mind. It was because of his existence that humanity was to crumble; it was also because of his existence that it could potentially be _saved._ The fate of the world rested upon his shoulders, and he could barely keep himself upright. 

The human heart. That was what McNamara said. He couldn’t let his soul become corrupted. He needed to stay _strong_. 

Paul’s vision blurred, shifting focus. No longer was he staring outside at the hell that Hatchetfield had become, but at the window _itself._ Within it, he caught his own reflection. Color drained from his face as he met unfamiliar eyes. No longer were the irises his normal sea blue, but a bright emerald. Crimson dripped steadily from them, staining his clothes — he was still wearing his fucking sweater, fuck he’d forgotten that it was covered in blood that wasn’t even his own, _oh fuck_ — and leaving streaks of red upon his skin. Hyperventilating, Paul ran his hands through his hair, mouth agape, and at that he stumbled away with a shout, back hitting the desk. _Half of his teeth were gone._

It seemed he hadn’t prepared himself for the next terrifying shock, however, for as he dropped his hands from his head, intending to inspect his mouth with his fingers, he noticed something within his palms: large clumps of hair. _His_ hair _._ Any and all words fled his train of thought, the realization dawning on him. An image of his mutated body, the one Wiggly had used to taunt him from within his mind, flashed in his head. The bastard was right — that hellish vision had been a glimpse of the future. That is what he would _become._

_I was wrong I can’t do this I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t—_

Falling on all fours, Paul retched and gagged. There was nothing left for him to vomit. 

“Hey now, lil’ buddy.” Paul _hated_ that Wiley’s presence, for a fraction of a second, actually felt _comforting._ He hurriedly shook off that thought (as well as a few remaining strands of his _fucking hair_ ) as Wiley slid his arms underneath Paul’s, lifting Wiggly’s vessel to his feet. 

Wiley helped the frail man to his seat, watching as Paul practically collapsed, his breathing erratic as he wiped the hair off of his hands frantically. A glimpse of his nails, and Paul saw that they seemed darkened, the edges _bleeding,_ but would not inspect it any more than that. He was still in shock, white as a sheet, tremors wracking his frame as he realized _his hair was falling out what the fuck what the fuck his hair was falling out!_

“Now, I know it might be a bit frightenin’,” Wiley began, standing behind Paul, hands on the back of the chair, “but it really ain’t that _bad._ ‘Sides, it’s only just begun, no need to lose your pretty lil’ head over nothin’.” 

_Only just begun._

“W-W-What do you m-mean?” Paul stuttered, gulping hard. 

“Like I said.” Wiley stepped out to Paul’s side, poking Paul’s nose in a gesture all too similar to the one Wiggly had used within his own mind. “Don’t ya worry about it. Try not to think too hard about the _implications_ now, mkay?”

The shaking wouldn’t _stop._ Once again, Paul took notice of the two men standing guard by the doorway, still staring _intently_ at him. Linda, meanwhile, seemed uninterested in the whole ordeal, scrolling through her phone, making faces every so often. Paul vaguely recalled seeing her on the news, hearing about her via social media. It wasn’t hard to imagine that she would be so easily swayed to this. There was a reason Wiggly coined her as “The Prophet.” 

“ _Wileyyy,_ ” she whined, and he spun around, offering her a grin. She stood beside him, showing the man the bright screen of her smartphone. “They’re at it again with that fucking propaganda. The more we’re off the air, the more they jump in. A bunch of hippies, really, but they’re turning away potential followers.” 

Paul hadn’t a clue as to what she was talking about, but it seemed as if Wiley did. Whispering something in her ear, Wiley ordered Linda to the sound booth as he began to adjust the microphone. 

Panic seized Paul’s chest, his already shallow breathing growing worse. “W-What’re you doing?” 

Wiley merely smirked, winking as he pushed Paul’s chair closer to the mic, causing him to jerk from the sudden movement. A nod from him was all Linda needed to flick a button, a red light blinking upon the desk. They were _live._

“ _Gooood evenin’,_ ” crooned Wiley into the microphone, “you’re listenin’ to the Wiggly Funtime Hour, the _only_ station on air at this time. Tonight we got ourselves a _special_ guest, an’ he’s a lil’ shy, so why don’t y’all give help me out in givin’ a warm welcome to the Vessel Himself: _Paul Matthews._ ” 

They wanted him to speak. They wanted _him_ to speak, not Wiggly. Those who had heard all of the terrible acts Wiggly had committed over the air...now they all knew it was because of him. _Because he couldn’t fight back._

“Well, Paul?” Wiley leaned against the table that the equipment sat upon, arms crossed over his chest. “Got anythin’ to say to your listeners? Your _followers?_ ”

How many were forced to listen to this? How many had surrendered to Wiggly’s control already? Wiley had said that this was the _only_ station...had Wiggly truly reached out to the entire world? It wasn’t possible. No. _No._

The encouraging words of General McNamara felt distant as Paul hugged his considerably thinner body. He struggled to speak. 

_“...I’m sorry.”_

The sobs that followed those two words were uncontrollable. Tears mingled with blood as he caved in on himself, fingers threading through his hair, his cries worsening as he felt himself pulling out more and _more_ chunks. _I’m sorry, Emma. I’m sorry, Tom. I’m sorry, Tim. I’m sorry, Bill. I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m sorry, General McNamara. I’m sorry, Emma. I’m sorry, Emma. I’m sorry—_

A _hiccup._ Paul’s crying ceased. He covered his mouth, whimpering. That was the same hiccup as...oh god. _Oh god no._ He couldn’t even fucking cry. He couldn’t even _fucking cry._ Even as he took in a sharp inhale, he was cut off by another _hiccup_ , one that had him convulsing where he sat. His throat flared in agony. 

Paul couldn’t handle it, not now. He would need time to gather his energy, devise a plan. Remaining in control was taxing upon him. Perhaps he could find a way to speak to the general, and if not, focus on _distracting_ Wiggly. But none of that could be accomplished here. Now he knew why Wiggly had dragged him out: it was his **punishment**.

As Paul faded back to the more comforting realm of his psyche, it didn’t take long for pitiful sobs to turn to the familiar laughter that Wiggly’s followers knew and _loved._ Wiley smiled. This wasn’t the last time that Paul would try to fight back. But Wiley had a feeling it would be a _long time_ before he returned. 

_“Sorry about Paulsy-Waulsy, my friendy-wends~”_

Wiggly finally spoke, broadcasting his words to all of his devoted followers, prideful as he heard Paul _scream_ from within his prison. Wiggly would make sure he never ran off **again**. 

_“He’s off sleeping in Drowsytown now~ Wouldn’t you like to join him~?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow the au at [@wigglypaulau-official](https://wigglypaulau-official.tumblr.com)!


	6. you will adore me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which a toy is found and a prophet is demoted. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy CRAP guys i am So sorry for the wait!!!!!!!!! things have started to get busy in our lives so this chapter ended up taking a hoot minute :( HOWEVER we hope you enjoy!!

**[ 11/30/2018 | 7:32 PM ]**

The bunker was tense. For the whole last week, no one seemed to know what to say. Everyone just awkwardly danced around each other, the only discussions updates about what was going on outside. Everything had fallen to shit so _quickly,_ and no one was taking it well, and no one knew how to help each other. That or they just refused to. Lex wasn't sure which was worse.

Hannah wasn't speaking. That wasn't too new, Hannah had always had a tendency to go nonverbal in difficult situations, but she'd been avoiding Lex entirely. Hardly even looking at her. There was no communication going on at all. Lex did her best to give her sister space when she needed it, but this made her uneasy. Hannah never avoided her. 

The youngest Foster was sitting by herself under the table in the living room. Small, shadowy, and quiet — the best place to calm down. When Lex found her, she tapped on the table's surface twice to let her sister know she was there.

“Knock-knock, Banana.” Lex crawled under the table, making sure to still give Hannah her space. She wouldn't touch her without warning. “Hey. There's a lot going on right now, huh? I bet it's real overwhelming.”

Hannah nodded. Lex reached out her hand, an offer of physical comfort, and held it in place until Hannah nodded again. Acceptance, that was good. Lex placed her hand on Hannah's back, rubbing her thumb in gentle circles.

“I know you're scared, Hannah. I'm scared too. You gotta remember I'm here, though, alright? I'm always right here. I'm gonna keep you safe, but I can't do that if you won't even look at me. You gotta tell me what's going on with you.”

A visible shudder ran through Hannah. Despite having avoided her sister all week, the younger Foster sibling desperately needed a comforting touch. She hadn’t even reached out to Ethan who, despite the fact that he was now walking and talking as he always did, was _not_ the same. His heart didn’t beat anymore. He always offered Hannah his food. As much as he tried to assure everyone that nothing too damaging happened, Hannah had _witnessed_ his death. She’d seen the _bad blood._ His soul having been trapped in the Black and White, they were now connected as well. She was able to see through his lies in more ways than one. 

Wiggly had caused all of those customers to lose their minds. Wiggly had made those people _kill_ Ethan. Wiggly had taken possession of that man, _Paul_ , the unwilling vessel. Wiggly had entered the world and it was _pure chaos._ She was so scared and so lost, but so afraid to reach out to Webby. She could feel Wiggly in there, feel him toying with the soul of the human body he stole. Feel him—

_You’ll be alllllll mine soon, li-ttle ba-na-na~_

“ _No!_ ”

Hannah realized too late that she’d spoken aloud, jerking away from Lex’s touch and drawing her knees to her chest. No one could know about the doll. She couldn’t let them turn on her. Not again. _Not again._

“ _Not a doll,_ ” she muttered, rocking back and forth, staring ahead. “ _Not a doll, offer the vessel, the second vessel..._ ”

Lex grew tense as she watched her sister’s breakdown, her own anxiety mounting. She took a deep breath and pulled her hands into her lap, locking her fingers together. 

“I know. None of it makes sense.” She sighed, recalling how Hannah had reacted when she'd first relayed what the military guy had told her. That was when she'd become avoidant. After Lex had yelled. “I'm sorry about that outburst, Hannah. I know you don't like yelling, and that day was already a lot for you. I didn't mean to make it worse, or to scare you.”

Hannah just glanced at her, eyes wide, and kept muttering. Lex was missing _something_.

“I'm right here,” she reminded her shaken sibling, softly. “You wanna talk about it, or should I just sit with you?”

But Lex’s words only seemed to worsen Hannah’s episode. The frightened girl shook her head violently, a vague answer to her big sister’s question. She wanted to know, but she couldn’t say anything, she couldn’t tell her. She couldn’t tell her because she was scared of the Black and White, scared of the _monster_ that plagued her dreams since that awful Friday. What did it want with her? Why did it want her? What if it killed Lex and Hannah couldn’t bring her back like they’d brought Ethan back?

“No. No, no, no,” Hannah whimpered, crawling away from her sister, pulling herself to her feet, unsteadily. “Don’t wanna lose you. Can’t... can’t _can’t_...”

_Offer the vessel. Offer the vessel._ Hannah didn’t understand. Why her? Why did Wiggly want _her_? Where had she heard those words before? 

Lex watched with utter confusion and concern. She tried to reach out into the Black and White for Hannah — there was _nothing._

Just then, as Lex followed her sister out from under the table, Ethan made his way onto the scene. His skin had regained more of its normal color, yet he still appeared sickly, despite the fact that he was feeling perfectly fine. Everyone still worried over him, of course, but especially Hannah, the girl of which he now found hugging her trembling frame. Ethan recognized it as one of her attacks, and strode over to the sisters. Hannah spotted him and shrunk away. 

“Hey, Hannah banana—”

“NO!” she screamed, and both Lex and Ethan felt her cry reverberate within their skulls. A result of their connection to the Black and White, most likely, but they hadn’t the time to ponder over it as Hannah grabbed the cap Ethan had given her, fisting at the material. “No, no, _no._ Get away. Get away. I’m gonna get you hurt. _He’s_ gonna hurt you...”

Ethan froze, and time came to a stop. 

Now if you asked him what had happened between his death and apparent resurrection, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. All he could recall was pitch black darkness, his soul floating endlessly through space, and then the strange, _jolting_ sensation of his essence being grabbed and forcefully shoved back into his physical form. He hadn’t expected to return from whatever prison he’d been trapped in, so to be up and about as if he hadn’t been fatally wounded still felt bizarre to him. 

Even more bizarre was his new connection to this _Black and White_ , an ability that Hannah and Lex both shared. It was obvious Hannah harnessed more power between the two, and it was because of this that she was suffering. Ethan couldn’t even reach out into the Black and White; he could do nothing but feel as _it_ tugged on _him_ , as the chilling laugh echoed in his head. It was even as if that childish tone could stop his already still heart. 

_Ba-na-na~_

Wiggly was taunting her. Wiggly knew of her power and he was _hurting her_. 

“Oh, _Hannah_ ,” he sighed, watching the one he considered his own little sister retreat into herself. “Hannah, listen, he can’t hurt you. I hear him too, y’know.” 

Lex arched a brow towards her boyfriend. Hannah backed further away from the pair, still whispering, “ _No, no..._ ” 

“I can help, banana,” Ethan insisted, inching closer to her. “You can block him out. He’s nothing but a voice.” 

“ _NO!_ ” 

The glass vase on the table behind them shattered as Hannah screeched. Tears streamed down the girl’s face, her mouth agape — _don’t understand they don’t understand_ — and in the blink of an eye, she was gone, sprinting down the hall to the guest room where she slept. The couple stood, stunned, taking a moment to collect themselves. Minutes passed, and they said nothing, only then hearing the faint _slam_ of Hannah’s door from somewhere within the labyrinth that was the bunker.

The silence was cut through like a knife when Lex finally spoke: “When had she been able to do _that_?”

Lex gestures behind Ethan. _That_ in question had been the shattered remains of the vase, shards of colored glass scattered along the floor. It had seemingly come out of nowhere, but the pair had seen it happen, and it hadn’t been hard to figure out the cause: _Hannah_ had destroyed it, purely by her own will. A thought began to stir in the back of Ethan’s head, and he was sure that Lex was contemplating it as well: Did Hannah have _other_ abilities that exceeded her connection to the Black and White?

“I dunno...just _now_ , I guess,” Ethan muttered, knowing that it was far from comforting, yet unable to formulate a better response. Lex didn’t make another comment on the matter, turning away from the mess her sister had made and pulling up a chair from the table.

“What the _fuck_ is happening, Ethan?” she groaned, leaning back into her seat, an elbow on the tabletop and her chin in her hand. Ethan was speechless as she continued, growing more agitated. “Is this the world’s cruel way of punishing me, huh? I wanted to start over, and now it’s all coming to an _end_ because of some possessed doll, or whatever?”

Ethan approached her, dragging another chair over and sitting beside her. Were he alive, he’d feel nauseous from the overwhelming anxiety that threatened to overflow, but nowadays his body always felt… _numb._

“Hey.” He placed a hand over his girlfriend’s, thumb running along her knuckles. Lex’s breath hitched at how _cold_ his skin was to the touch. “I’m still here, yeah? _You’re_ still here. Hannah’s still here. We’re all okay.”

“Okay is an _understatement_ .” Lex grasped his hand. It did not grow warmer. His face remained devoid of most color. “Ethan you fucking _died_ . You’re not even really... _alive_ anymore, are you?”

If Ethan could truly _feel_ anything anymore, he would’ve felt his heartbeat quicken, his hands would have begun sweating. His mouth remained tightly shut, yet the unsaid words could be read clear as day on his face as he took in Lex’s pain: _You should’ve left me there._

Tears welled in Lex’s eyes as she dropped her head on his shoulder. 

“Fuck, and now _you’re_ hearing that green demon thing.” She sniffed. Ethan’s unmoving heart ached, his arms wrapping around her. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me? Why can you guys hear that _thing_ and I can’t?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan admitted. “For me, uh...probably has to do with being in the Black and White. But Hannah…”

They both grew tense, Lex forcing back sobs.

“She’s... _powerful_. I can feel it, and I know you can too.” Ethan stroked her hair as she nodded, his other hand rubbing her back. “But she’s safe here, yeah? That thing and his followers can’t get us here.”

Lex forced herself to believe him as much as she could, pushing away any and all doubts that, little did she know, Ethan shared with her as well.

“I don't know what the fuck to do,” she mumbled. “I just...have to be able to help her, it's the only damn thing I'm good at...If I can't do that now we're _fucked..."_

Lex buried her face in his jacket and sniffled. He glanced around, making sure no one else was there, though he knew Lex wouldn't be crying at all if they were. He rubbed her back gently. 

“She’ll be okay. Bad guy's got her buggin' is all.” Ethan winced. His connection to the Black and White wasn’t as Hannah; he only knew a fraction of what she felt. “She trusts you, though...you'll figure somethin’ out." 

Another sniffle from Lex. “I fucking hope so.”

As Lex fell into the safe, comforting embrace of her boyfriend, Hannah fell into the creaky, stiff mattress that was a part of her designated bed. Hidgens’s bunker was _huge_ , large enough to fit far more than the six of them that had arrived unannounced at the professor’s door. Everyone thankfully has their own, individual rooms, which is where Hannah spent most of her time since the _incident_ in the bathroom, curled into a ball, leaning against the bed frame as her mind wandered. 

None of them questioned how the strange man had rigged up the place to be almost completely controlled by an Amazon Alexa of all things, but the less they asked him, the better. He already acted strange around Ethan and the Foster siblings, and that alone worried Hannah. It was as if they were some new scientific phenomena that he’d discovered. He never seemed to shut up about his nephew’s resurrection. Hannah couldn’t explain her own abilities as it was. She didn’t want to explain them, she couldn’t. Hell, she didn’t even _want_ them. 

Isolating herself from the Black and White was difficult, and while she managed to keep herself grounded most of the time, she still _heard_ it during her most vulnerable moments. When her guard was down, she heard the _laughter_ ; the taunts in that chilling mockery of a child’s own voice; the echoes of _screams_ from the poor victims that suffered at its hands; and somewhere, somewhere in the far, _far_ reaches of the Black and White, a whimper. Another voice. _A soul._

_Help me._

Hannah flopped onto her stomach and buried her face into her pillow. She wished she could hear Webby. She missed Webby. _She_ needed _Webby._ Where had she disappeared since Black Friday? _Why_ had she disappeared?

“Webby,” came her muffled cry, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, “Webby _please._ Please please _please_ help me.” 

_Webby is a_ **_stupid bitch~_**

Her breathing stopped. 

In another room, far from the younger Foster’s bedroom, Ethan’s world went black.

A scream erupting from within Hannah’s chest, the girl shot up, grabbing her pillow and holding it close to her chest. Seized with panic and petrified in fear, Hannah glanced to the floor in front of her, glanced towards the _thing_ that emanated a brilliant green light that filled the room: _a Wiggly doll._

_Li-ttle ba-na-naaaa~ I told you that flushing me away wouldn’t get rid of me~_

It had burned before her. Hannah had _watched_ the doll become engulfed with flames; she’d flushed the burnt pieces down the toilet! _How had it returned?!_

“No...” 

_Ohhhh yes, Ha-nnah~_

The light grew brighter. Blood rushed in Hannah’s ears, audible moans in despair escaping her. 

_You ca-nnot get rid of me~ I will find you,_ and _your big sister~ They’ll be-come my bestest buddy-wuds!_

She had to get rid of it. She had to destroy it again, she _had_ to. Before she could even move to stand, the Thing-That-Wasn’t-A-Doll spoke again. Its words turned Hannah’s blood to ice: 

_We’ll all make friendy-wends in California~ Isn’t that what you wanted, Ha-nnah? To escape from your fucking bit̮̉̆Ch of a mother and move to C̷͊ͣa̧̛͓l̲̺̤ḯͫ̐F̎͡_ **_o̸̰ͤR̫͉̳ni͌ͮ͂A͍̬̔?̜ͮ̉!̽̄͊_ **

Hannah’s vision went white. Emotions erupted within her, fury and misery combined, as she surged towards the doll, grabbing it, successfully sniffing out its horrifying glow. Tucking it into her flannel, she darted out the door. She maneuvered around the bunker, careful not to be caught by anyone else, trying her best to navigate in a place she’d only been familiar with for a week. 

In another area of the bunker, Lex stood over the unconscious form of her boyfriend, who had suddenly collapsed to the floor not a few moments ago. Her hands grabbed at his leather jacket, shaking his frail (much _lighter_ ) frame. Terror sent Lex into a panicked state: had Ethan truly died again? Was he going to leave her for _good_ this time?

A violent shudder washed over Ethan then. Lex let go of him immediately, and not long after, his eyes flew open and he sat up with a gasp, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. A trickle of blood dropped from his nose.

“ _Hannah_ ,” Ethan whimpered, reaching out for something to grab onto. Lex offered her hand, helping him to his feet. He was staring ahead, unblinking, gripping Lex’s shoulders. She tried to soothe him, but before she could speak, Ethan cried, “We need to find Hannah. _We need to find Hannah._ ”

As Hannah’s feet padded across the floor, the creature that disguised itself as a toy began to _cackle._ Briefly, she feared that others would hear, before realizing that _it_ was laughing _within her head._

_You can’t escape from me, Ha-nnah! It’s useless to try! It’s inẽ̐̒v͔̎ͅitable̝̿͛ for you~! Hehehe *hic* hehe *hic* hahA_ **_HAḦ́ͪ̾҉̵Ȃ͎̯H̶̤͜A͙͖͖҉̕H̬͍͢Aͫ̆̈́!!!_ **

Rather than hiccuping, the giggles trailed off into an awful throaty, _gurgling_ sound. Hannah shook violently, repressing the urge to howl as the torture reached a fever pitch. She kept as quiet as possible as she entered the kitchen (well, one of them) and threw the doll-like thing into the sink. 

As it continued to laugh and mock her terror, Hannah shuddered and managed to get out, “Y-You’ll never _win._ We w-won’t let you.”

The laughter came to a halt. A hand on her hammering heart, Hannah sighed deeply. Just as she managed to compose herself and calm her breathing, the doll _turned its head and met her direct gaze._

_Offer the Vessel. Wake the Warrior. Save the world._

Hannah’s heart dropped. 

_Offer the Vessel. Wake the Warrior. Save the world. Offer the V̡̖ë̄̍s̔̓̇҉sel. Wͥ͛͋aͪͭ̿kͯ͛̎e͎̔̅ t̬̱ͪhe W̘̟̣à̘͓r̞͒̐rͣͮ̽ï̆̍o̺͌r̞̖̃. S͇͚ͅ_ **_a̗̓ͤvͤ͊̚Ē̾̚ t͙ͪͩh͂͂̑҉̴͜E͓ͥ̅҉͏ W̞ǒ̈ͭR͗ͣ̈́L̊ͣͅd̃ͣ͆._ **

It wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t _stop_ repeating that same phrase over and over. Its voice became warped with each word, until she couldn’t recognize anything — it was nothing but _static._ She was unable to remain strong a moment longer, feeling her eyes well with tears, her strong reserve beginning to crack. Hannah muttered a harsh “ _fuck you,_ ” thrusted her tormentor down the drain, and flicked on the garbage disposal. 

She couldn’t even find it in her to be satisfied as its speech grew garbled and choppy, the blades shredding it to pieces of cotton and green fur. It managed to destroy the toy with startling efficiency, until nothing was left except a few tufts of fur and a yellow eyeball. Turning on the faucet, Hannah washed away the leftover remains, letting it get washed away into the pipes, never to be seen again. 

_Hopefully._

Would it be back? She hoped not. She didn’t think she could handle it again if it did. Her limbs now having turned to complete jelly, she fell to her knees on the kitchen floor and _wept._

It wasn’t long before Ethan and Lex found Hannah curled up on the cold tiles not two minutes later. He found himself wrapping his arms around her, sobbing as well.

Both of them had heard Wiggly; but only one of them knew that his presence was still among them, even in the isolated safety of the bunker.

* * *

“Ugh…” 

Linda groaned as she flipped through the channels on the TV before her. Holed up in one of the many abandoned green rooms at HF-101, Linda had been hoping she’d find _something_ entertaining to watch, whether it be a trashy Adam Sandler film or _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_ . But alas, every single station, every _single_ one, was news coverage of the oncoming apocalypse. Even then it was all on the same thing: the escalating situation in Russia. 

From what Linda gathered, Moscow also had a portal, a well constructed one that _hadn’t_ blown up. Once Wiggly was out, it was only a matter of time before his minions from the Black and White followed suit, following him through the other portal and taking over. And yet, they hadn’t entered through the portal in Washington, D.C.? _Boring._ Who _cares_ about Russia?

Linda knew about the end of the world already! It seemed the only thing that was ever on anymore was either constant coverage of the destruction, or their very own broadcast. Both a constant reminder that she wasn’t pulling as much rank as she had initially been led to believe. 

This was all happening because of _her_ . _She_ was The Prophet. Wiggly was only here because _she_ had the power to gather enough people to build that damn portal. Wiley had told her that _she_ was the most important person in Hatchetfield. Apparently he forgot to mention a certain _someone_ else. Linda had to admit though, she liked it when Wiggly would let the Vessel out to play for a little bit. It gave her an important job to do, and more importantly, it gave her power over someone terrified of her. That was why she was in this whole thing to begin with anyways. 

But now? It was like she had been disposed of. As if Wiggly’s plans no longer included her. She had served her purpose of bringing Him here. Shouldn’t she be _rewarded_ for that? But oh, _no_ , instead all Miss Linda Monroe got to do was supervise the cultists and run the soundboard for their broadcasts. She had been _demoted_. 

Getting tired of the TV, she went onto her phone to scroll through the practically useless tips people were trying to give to each other through Twitter, Facebook, the like. _Pathetic_ , she thought. Who did these goody-goody Becky Barnes-types think they were fooling? They were no better than the rest of them. 

But still, they gave Linda a purpose somehow. She could monitor the situation, and eventually take charge against them. Proving her worth to Wiggly. 

Her deep thought was interrupted by Gary bursting through her door. Or rather, what had _become_ of Gary. Gone was the professional, well-dressed lawyer that Linda and the rest of Hatchetfield had become so familiar with. In its place was a human purely animalistic, practically foaming at the mouth. His coat had long since been forgotten, his clothes in disarray and splattered with blood. His tie had also been removed, as he’d tied it around his head; it had remained like that for a week now. One of the thick lenses of his glasses had cracked, but one could still glimpse those shimmering emerald orbs beneath, irises no longer the clear sapphire they’d once been before His reign. 

Linda had to admit, it was _cute_ to watch the once well composed man fall on all fours, grasping at her cape. It was very much a welcome sight to have someone kneel before her in general, really. Unfortunately, the spell was broken the moment Gary opened his mouth. 

“Have-Have you _heard?!_ ” he choked, trembling with excitement, his bloodshot eyes glowing a brighter green. His voice barely sounded like Gary’s anymore, rough with overuse. “It’s starting—! We are becoming One with _Him_ — and I have been _chosen!!!_ ”

Linda blinked, brows knitting in confusion. “ _Gary_. What the hell are you going on about?” 

Honestly Gary has been spewing out batshit craziness the past week and Linda hadn’t cared enough to give him the time of day. However, when it concerned Wiggly, it grabbed her attention. 

“He has seen how faithful we truly are!” Gary was practically drooling. “And He is _rewarding_ us!” 

“What the fuck have you done that deserves rewarding?” Linda snapped, rising to her feet. “And what does ‘becoming one with Him’ even mean? Wiggly already has His Vessel, why would He _‘Choose’_ you for anything? And get your filthy hands off me, I just changed.” 

She shooed him away from her, grimacing. The man who’d once been her attorney stumbled, falling onto his back, but he scrambled back onto his knees, clasping his hands together as if he were praying.

“I have been Chosen to become one of _them_!” Gary exclaimed, suddenly transfixed by the TV, still displaying the destruction of Russia caused by…what the fuck were they called again? 

“A… _Sniggle?_ ” Linda recalled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, he's serious, sweetheart.”

Linda looked up to see Wiley loitering casually in the doorway, arms crossed and a knowing grin stretched over his face. 

“What better way to show gratitude for such loyalty?” Wiley glanced at Gary, who gave an unhinged grin. “Get on your way now. Wouldn't want to be late.”

Gary obediently scurried from the room, leaving Wiley and Linda alone. Wiley stuck his hands in his pockets and strode closer to Linda, giving her a once-over. Her body language was stiff, shoulders raised and hands clenched into fists. Her expression was shocked and disgusted, and did he spy a hint of... _insult?_ When he reached her he gently took a lock of her bleached hair between his fingers and twirled it. 

“Why the face, doll? What's the matter?” he asked, his tone artificially sweet. _Mocking_ her.

If anyone else had touched her hair like that she would have slapped them anyway in a second — with her anger at Wiley she briefly considered doing so — but she held back. 

“This is happening _now?_ Why was I never informed of this?” Great. Now even the _one_ thing she was in charge of was being taken from her. Could she catch a _break?_ “This is supposed to be _my_ department, Wiley. If you are going to go over my head and make changes you could _at least_ run them by me first!" 

Linda could maybe accept Wiggly making these decisions without her, but Wiley was a completely different game. “This is all happening because of me, you know. Without me Wiggly wouldn't even be here. So maybe you could show _The Prophet_ some respect.”

“Now, now, Miss Monroe. You know as well as I do that this is all much bigger than that.” Wiley's hand left her hair, instead stroking her cheek. She bristled. “You've done your job, sweetheart, and you did it perfectly. You'll always have a seat at the table as thanks.”

He drifted a little closer, his breath on her skin. “If appreciation’s what you want, just wait ‘til tonight, darlin'.”

He pecked Linda’s cheek. Despite her indignant frown, she couldn't help the blush rising beneath her skin. She shook herself and rolled her eyes, taking a step back from him to compose herself, holding her phone to him. “Have you heard the news? There are these little rebel groups starting to sprout up. Best we cut them out of the picture now, and I think we all know that I’m the perfect person for the job.” 

She smirked to herself, knowing she was right. Knowing there was no way he would turn her down. 

But Wiley was unfazed. “We got bigger fish to fry right now,” was all he replied with. Linda’s face dropped. 

“ _Excuse_ me? This is getting large scale attention, we need to take action _now_ to prove that _I”_ — she caught herself — “that _we_ are not to be trifled with! What’s more important than this right now? The _girl?_ The _broadcast?_ ” 

“The Vessel.” 

“I’m not sure if you noticed but I think we have a pretty good grip on him right now.” 

“No, no, no, _no,_ Miss Monroe…the _other_ vessel.” 

Now Linda was totally lost. _“What?!”_

“You best not be tryin’a talk back to me, darlin’,” he growled, taking her wrists in his hands, a sparkle of emerald in his onyx eyes. There was a dangerous expression on his face, almost predatory, but it softened as his lips formed a warm grin. 

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of Linda’s palm. “Don’t go meddlin’ in affairs that ain’t your business. You’ll _see_ , it’ll all fall into place in the end.” 

Adoration looked as if it overwhelmed him and he cupped Linda’s cheek, thumb stroking along her porcelain skin. “All you gotta worry ‘bout is helpin’ Our True God bring about a new era. The other vessel will be taken care of when the time is right, and before it does, it’s _your_ job to handle the broadcasts and...oversee the initiation process.” 

The sound of giggles from _multiple_ people sounded from outside the room. Wiley bared his teeth in a delighted grin as he heard Wiggly join in with them. It truly had begun. 

“They’ll see soon enough.” 

Linda was stunned, trying desperately to comprehend all of this. Wiley faced the television, watching as the live feed of the so-called “protestors” became overwhelmed by a crowd of individuals with glowing green eyes. The camera then shifted to graffiti on the wall, showing a symbol that supposedly belonged to the people of this revolution. 

He snorted. 

“They’re harmless. No, they ain’t gonna take us down, Miss Monroe. They won’t even get a chance.”

Linda paused, searching for something to grasp at now that her idea was thrown out. “Okay… _well_ ...” Her eyes lit up. “What about the prisoners? The _stubborn_ ones that won’t come around. Shouldn't we just get rid of them if they haven’t come around after all this time already? _Obviously_ I’m not saying to kill the girl but there are others that we can use to make an example of to scare people into it!” 

Linda had to make her move, show that she was still in charge. But not too big of a move that she would step on Wiley and Wiggly’s toes. 

Just then someone walked by the door. A long haired man with a beard and glasses who, even before joining a cult, looked disheveled. “You there!” Linda called out to him. He looked at her with crazed wide eyes. “Kill one of the employees.”

The bespectacled Wiggly worshiper seemed more than eager to follow the orders of the Prophet, but before he could do so, Wiley lunged forward. Fire, green as the very essence of Wiggly Himself, blazed in his soulless eyes, his grip on the poor man’s shoulders strong enough to bruise. 

“ _Don’t listen to her,_ ” he growled, forcing the servant of their God to _look_ him in the eye. “ _You best follow_ my _orders an’ get along now, make sure no one’s escaped, make sure they’ve become a servant to His holiness._ ” 

Wiley let go, the flames that had once flickered in his gaze dimming. The follower, however, merely stood, stunned, fearful. Wishing not for his patience to be tested any further, Wiley implored, in a calmer tone, “Run along now.” 

The frazzled man complied, retreating. Alone once again, Wiley spun on his heel to face the (fake) blonde, just barely managing to restrain himself. Linda, for once, was speechless, her mouth agape. He took slow strides towards the woman, eyes narrowed, voice on the very edge of breaking. “Never, never, never, _ever_ — you hear me, _never_ — give an order without me _or_ Wiggly’s permission.” 

Then, in the blink of an eye, his menacing aura faded. A chuckle escaping from deep within, Wilbur _towered_ over Linda, drinking in her bewilderment and fear like a fine wine. “ _Come_ now, you know all ‘bout followin’ my orders. I seen you open that mouth o’ yours for me in more ways than one, darlin’.”

Her mouth closed the moment he spoke those words, face burning in shame and embarrassment. _Fucking bastard._

“ _Eugh_ ,” she gagged, “don’t you dare say that to me right now, you’re disgustang! But…message received.” 

Dear god, Gerald never would have given her this much trouble. Come to think of it...where even _was_ he these days? 

He was so supportive _over the phone_ but once shit got real she lost contact with him. When Linda had returned home to grab her things and shower (no way was she going to wear the same clothes every day and become unhygienic, thank you very much), there was no sign of him or the kids. She knew that if they were found that they wouldn’t be killed, Linda had made sure of that much, that they would be brought here instead. But it had been a week and still _nothing_. 

“Any word of Gerald?” Linda asked, starting on a new topic despite her frustration. Wiley was more than relieved to move on, yet at the mention of Gerald, he groaned. 

“Aww come on now, Miss Monroe, I know you don’t really wanna go back to that snooze fest!” He rolled up his sleeves and sighed. “But no, there ain’t.” 

Linda hummed in response, unsure of how to feel. The noise from the “initiation” grew louder by the second, the laughter _surrounding_ them. 

“You may want to go check on that, you know,” Linda teased, managing one last, victorious grin. “Weren’t the Sniggles _your job_ after all?” 

Wiley shot her a glare, but still left. Linda was left alone again, with nothing to accompany her but the live footage of Armageddon on a television screen and the muffled sounds of childish giggles. She pulled out her phone and tried calling Gerald. No answer.

She really needed to think over what her place was in the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow the au at [@wigglypaulau-official](https://wigglypaulau-offical.tumblr.com)!


	7. let’s play some games.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which a fun game is played. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owo what’s this? another chapter ALREADY?? WHOA!!!!!

**[ 12/1/18 | 1:24 PM ]**

Not a soul spoke of the incident last night. They’d all been trying to recover, trying to keep themselves safe from the outside world. It seemed that the horrors that they so desperately tried to shield themselves from followed them everywhere. 

Poor little Tim had been the first to discover Ethan and Hannah, holding each other on the floor of the kitchen. The kid had barely spoken all week, traumatized by the events at the mall, but _something_ about the sight of those two, hugging each other and crying, caused him to break down as well. Lex had tried to calm the child, but in that moment Tom had caught up to his son, Becky trailing behind. Professor Hidgens, having heard the commotion, eventually had to cut in as Tom began to grow hysterical, blaming Lex for Tim’s sobs. 

Everyone was going stir crazy and it was only week one. 

Knowing of Hannah’s connection to Wiggly’s dimension, everyone figured that her sudden attack had been a result of her “looking” into the Black and White. It had been intense, intense enough to affect _Ethan_ , and Lex wanted nothing more than to be close to her sister. But, like before, she’d been pushed away. Ethan has watched her retreat into her room again, staring towards the sink, swearing that he’d seen a tuft of green fur in the basin... 

Hannah hadn’t slept all night. She’d barely gotten a decent amount of sleep since the doll had _first_ spoken to her. Now her paranoia had worsened. Every time her eyes dropped shut, she _saw_ Wiggly, saw the toy, saw the face he was now wearing, mutated and _dripping blood_ . She must have visited the kitchen multiple times all night, staring into the sink drain, watching, _waiting_ for **him** to return. He never did.

Attempting to keep her mind busy and calm her nerves (heightened from sleep deprivation) Lex’s sister situated herself on the floor of her room, sitting cross-legged. Making sure her door was locked — she hadn’t left to eat or drink when the sun rose — she got to work on a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle she’d found in the closet. The picture she was attempting to put together was of aquatic life. 

She forced herself to calm her anxiety when she gathered the pieces for an octopus.

That was when the soft knock came. Two little thumps, not an attack, just a communication of presence. Hannah glanced behind her. 

Ethan was outside the door, leaned against the wall. He had to talk to her. He was probably the only one who could, not that he liked thinking that. _Lex_ was Hannah's sister. _Lex_ was the one who should be able to help. But Hannah was being even more avoidant than before after last night, and Lex couldn't hear Wiggly. She couldn’t understand what had triggered this breakdown, and Ethan couldn't explain it. But he'd been there. He could understand Hannah right now, and if there was a chance he could reach her and get her to talk to them, he'd do his best. For Lex, and for Hannah, because they were his family. 

He wondered if Hannah could sense him or something. He knew she was in there, and he knew the door was locked — at least, he knew he couldn't try it, lest he risk scaring the kid even more. He wasn't entitled to her company, no matter how much he felt she needed his. Trying the door felt like entitlement, knocking felt like an offer. So Ethan knocked. 

“Hey, Banana Split,” he said, making sure to keep his voice light. “Y’know this place is massive? When I was a kid I’d play hooky gettin’ lost ‘round here. Found a stash of cards and board games once. You wanna go exploring, see if we can find 'em again?”

The jigsaw piece held between Hannah’s fingers slipped, falling to the floor, bouncing off of the carpet. She knew he was suspicious of last night’s events. She _knew_ that he’d heard Wiggly’s taunts. Though it seemed that he had yet to find out about the doll, it still worried her that she wasn’t the only one enduring this torment. 

“No,” she croaked, somehow, despite her throat feeling as if it were constricting. 

A hiccuping giggle sounded in her ears, barely audible. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end, and she wondered if what she’d heard had been a memory, or she’d let herself become attuned to the Black and White again. 

_Can you hear it too, Ethan?_

Before Ethan could even try to convince Hannah to come out, there was...a familiar laugh. Ethan’s spine straightened and he whipped around, prepared to defend himself, but found himself face-to-face with _nothing._ He wasn’t sure why he’d been so shaken. Just echoes of Wiggly’s voice, that’s it. Nothing more. 

_I know you can hear him too, Hannah._

“Look, Banana,” he began, leaning his back against the door now. Hannah hadn’t moved since she’d dropped the puzzle piece, staring down at the unfinished picture before her, listening. “I know it’s a lot. I _know._ But we’re gonna be stuck here for a while, maybe forever, and...you can’t spend your whole life running away from it all. The worst you could possibly do is distance yourself from your family.” 

Shakily, Hannah pulled herself to her feet, arms wrapped around her chest. She was so lonely. She’d never been so lonely. For the first time, she couldn’t rely on her sister to help her, couldn’t rely on the one person she’d always looked up to. Lex didn’t know. She didn’t have that strange power that Hannah did, the power that their mother had shamed the child for. All of her fits, the talking spider, all of it. 

But now...Ethan knew. 

To some extent, he _knew._ A pause. Ethan began to get worried now, pushing himself away from the door. “Hannah? I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone if you want—” 

A click. The knob turned, and in the doorway stood Hannah, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, her unbraided hair a frizzy mess, dark circles under her eyes. Ethan’s blood would’ve turned cold if blood were flowing through his body. Before he could say anything, Hannah embraced him, forcing back tears because she just wanted _some_ normalcy to return to this new life of theirs. 

Of course, on top of it all, Hannah still wore that hat he’d given her. Ethan couldn’t help but grin. 

“Hey there, Banana Split,” he chuckled, returning her embrace, squeezing her, knowing how much the pressure soothed her (god, he was more grateful than ever that the wound in his stomach had completely healed by now). She instantly relaxed. “Guess you decided to take me up on that offer, huh?” 

Face buried in his chest, she nodded.

The pair quietly made their way through the halls of Hidgens’s bunker, scurrying past one of the ten living rooms, where Tom sat on the couch with his son watching some Pixar film. With every turn they made and door they entered, Ethan felt as if he were a kid again, when he’d spent more time with his uncle than his own damn parents. Amidst this reflection, he found the same question floating around in his mind that he had popped up numerous times in his childhood: just how long had it taken for his uncle to build this place, let alone _plan_ it?

As quietly as possible, they crept through the hall and down into the bunker’s dark basement. No one was down there, but they still moved cautiously. 

“Sneaking?” Hannah asked, realizing Ethan was being uncharacteristically quiet as they moved. 

“It's been a while, I dunno what my uncle's got hidden 'round here. Might be stuff he doesn't want us finding.” Ethan glanced back and winked. “Whatever it is, gotta be interesting, right? Could be some freaky science shit, or one ‘a those conspiracy boards with the red thread— _oh!”_

Ethan stumbled, startled by the sound of a _crack_ under his feet. In a moment of panic Hannah grabbed his arm. He found her hand and squeezed comfortingly. 

“I gotcha, Hannah.”

He picked up his foot and huffed — it was just an empty bottle discarded on the floor. He rolled his eyes, kicking the pieces aside, and kept going. Hannah frowned, almost disappointed. 

“Bottles aren't scary.” 

She seemed to be speaking to herself rather than Ethan. Still, Ethan replied, “Lotsa things can be scary, ‘specially if ya don't know what they are.”

Hannah remained quiet. They continued to sneak. 

“I think the games were hidden in one ‘a the storage closets. I dunno, though.” Ethan said. “What d’you think we'll find, Banana?”

Hannah wasn’t a very talkative person, and especially now, she barely could get out a word at a time. So, as a response, she merely shrugged, which Ethan seemed satisfied enough with. While he began to busy himself by searching through a few of the storage closets in the basement, Hannah wandered over to a desk in the far corner, dusty cardboard boxes piled upon it. Curious, she placed the boxes on the ground (brushing off a few stray spiders in the process), and approached what the strange professor had apparently attempted to keep hidden. Nothing of particular interest yet, but then she reached for the drawers and — _oh._

She’d expected to find some top secret formula or something, maybe a cure for all disease, or perhaps even a genetically engineered monster. 

But no. Nothing but old notebooks and what appeared to be a manuscript of some sort. Hannah grabbed at the manuscript first, titled **WORKIN’ BOYS: A NEW MUSICAL, BY HENRY HIDGENS**. A few pages in and she already found herself bored. Talk about cliché, this was every Newsies-type musical that the theater kids at her school gushed over. 

Abandoning that disaster, she then pulled out one of the notebooks, the cover filled almost completely with nearly illegible signatures. (She could only make out a few names: _Henry_ , _Mark_ , and _Chad._ ) Now even more intrigued, Hannah skimmed to a random page. There was a date at the very top: 

_November 13th, 1984_

A journal of some kind? She kept reading: 

_Midnight. All of us have gathered tonight to hunt down this true evil. There will be a day, mark my words, when the world is overrun with monsters. They all laugh at us, but those very monsters are living among us. Some are not even from this dimension, and we believe we have found someone who can see into this dimension, this Black and White—_

“Whatcha readin’, Banana Split?” 

Hannah _squealed_ , dropping the notebook. Her eyes widened, a hand clasped over her mouth. Ethan, realizing his mistake, was full of immense regret. 

“Shi— _Crap_ , sorry, Hannah.” Under his arm, he held the board games Monopoly and Chutes and Ladders. Evidently he’d found what he was looking for. Glancing to the floor, he picked up the journal and asked, more to himself, “What’s this, my uncle’s diary or somethin’?” 

All Hannah could do was nod, unable to stop thinking about what she’d _seen_. The professor knew about the Black and White all this time? He knew other people who could reach out to it?

Ethan, meanwhile, had flipped open the first few pages of the journal, squinting at its contents. He frowned, shutting the book. 

“I can't read his fuckin’ chickenscratch.” He tossed the journal to the floor and held up the games. “Take your pick.” 

Hannah chose Chutes and Ladders. Ethan found the dimmer to turn the lights up and they set up on the floor. The game was pretty simple. Hannah won the first round, Ethan won the second. They moved their pieces back up to the start for a new round, and Ethan set up the spinner at his side.

“Weird Uncle Henry's got these and hasn't even thought to bust 'em out, huh?” he said. “Games make good downtime, sorta figured that was why he had 'em in the first place. But all he's been doin' is listenin' to the radio, and all everyone else has been doin' is yelling and hiding from each other. I ain't that sharp, but if you ask me that's a bad idea.” 

“Spinner,” Hannah said. Ethan looked at his fingers, which had been playing with the arrow of the spinner. He sighed and flicked it properly.

“Four.” He moved his piece. “Oh sick, that's a ladder, climb time…” He pushed the dice towards Hannah. “Your turn.”

Truly, Hannah had never played this game before, but the rules were easy, thus she picked up on how to play quickly. Flicking the spinner, she watched as the arrow spun wildly, before landing on the number six. That landed her on a space that was at the end of a slide, where her piece would fall to should she end up at the top. Satisfied with her progress, she sat up on her knees, waiting for Ethan to go. 

Ten minutes passed and they were already halfway through their third round. Ethan seemed to be having the worst luck, as with every other space he landed on a slide; Hannah, meanwhile, was incredibly lucky, only about thirty spaces away from the end. She smiled in spite of herself, absentmindedly touching at the cap Ethan had given her. Perhaps it not only protected her, but gave her _luck._ That split second grin that appeared on Hannah’s lips didn’t go unnoticed by Ethan, either. 

Despite losing, Ethan found he was having more fun than he’d had in what seemed like ages. Sure, they were just playing some kid board game, but they were enjoying themselves amidst this crisis for once. It was a moment of happiness among the tragedy, and though Ethan desperately needed to keep it that way, he knew he needed Hannah to open up. The girl’s hair would start greying if she didn’t just let it out already. He could _feel_ her emotional pain, bubbling under the surface, ready to burst.

“So, uh...Banana,” Ethan began, tentatively, flicking the spinner. “You wanna talk about last night?” 

As expected, Hannah didn’t respond. Her face dropped, eyes cast downward. _Damn._

“Hey, hey,” he sighed, “it’s fine, don’t gotta talk about it.”

Two spaces. For the first time, his piece ascended a ladder, and he couldn’t help but pump his fist. The gesture seemed to lighten the mood, Hannah now paying full attention to Ethan. 

“Just, uh...” Ethan began, watching as Hannah spun for her turn. “Just know that...I know what it’s like. I was stuck in the Black and White myself for hours, though it didn’t feel like hours. I still hear him still, I hear some of the things he’s doing now and I can’t even sleep.”

Hannah’s piece fell down a slide. Goosebumps rose on her skin. 

“You don’t have to be alone in this, y’know,” Ethan explained, trying to get through to her. “I know it’s scary, everythin’s so fuckin’ scary right now...but you have your big sis, an’ even if she can’t hear ole’ Oscar the Grouch, ya got me. You know, it always helps to tell ‘im off with a couple o’ bad jokes...” 

Finally, Hannah lifted her head, and they stared towards each other. Ethan grew quiet. Instead of speaking, she reached out for his hand, cold and bony as it may be, and squeezed. 

A... _ripple_ of some sort went through him. Power? It had to be from the Black and White. Whatever it was, it was nearly overwhelming. But Ethan knew now, with this gesture, that Hannah trusted him. They were on the same level, and they needed each other, now more than ever. 

It was too much and Hannah wobbled where she’d risen on her knees. Ethan caught her as she fell against him, stroking her back. 

“I gotcha, Hannah,” Ethan assured the girl, who’d now started to tremble in his arms. “Shh, c’mon, I know it’s a lot...” 

_(i’m sorry ethan it’s just a lot it’s a lot)_

Though Ethan didn’t need to breathe, he found himself inhaling sharply. Hannah hadn’t spoken those words out loud. _Hannah hadn’t spoken those words out loud._ “Wha...” Ethan pulled away to look at Hannah. She, too, looked completely stunned. Furrowing his brows, Ethan concentrated hard. 

_(can you hear me?)_

Hannah gulped and nodded. 

_(yeah)_

What the fuck had she done? Before either of them could fully process this new power, this new _bond_ she’d formed, the door on the far side of the basement slammed open. The pair jerked at the sound, Hannah covering her ears, Ethan swearing under his breath — it was Professor Hidgens. Grey hair astray and dark circles under his eyes, he appeared as if he’d walked through the gates of Hell itself.

“My drawers were left open!” he shouted, manic, stressed from lack of sleep, no doubt, and of course having to listen to the broadcast. Ethan tried to speak up, but Hidgens merely yelled over his nephew. “No one’s supposed to look in those!”

Ethan held his hands up in surrender. “Listen, Uncle Henry, I was just lookin’ for games for the kid—”

“Upstairs, both of you!”

“But the—”

_“Upstairs!”_

“Alright, time to split, Banana!”

Ethan scrambled to his feet and pulled Hannah up, too, ditching the game setup with her in tow. They hurried up the stairs and when Ethan glanced back, he almost thought he caught a smile.

Meanwhile, Hidgens was left in the basement, alone — again.

“Fucking _kids_ ,” the old man mumbled, glancing over to the all-too-familiar notebook that had been strewn on the floor. With a heavy heart, he bent down and picked up the journal, not daring to even _skim_ through its contents.

Piling the other journals in his arms (along with that _very_ important manuscript), Hidgens ventured back into his study to carefully hide the items away. He couldn’t help but cringe as one of his many Alexas continued to broadcast the voice of that horrifying creature. The others had insisted they’d listen to it with him, but no. The professor had to listen to it. He had to figure out how to defeat it somehow, and he’d never subject anyone to this torment. It was his cross to bear.

Just as it had always been.

_“Gooood afternoon, my friendy-wends~! MERRY CHRISTMAS FIRST~! To celebrate this occasion, I have a little song for all of my itty-bitty followers to sing along with me~! AHEM! On the first day of Christmas, my buddy-wuds gave to me: a heretic’s head under a tree~ On the second day of Christmas, my buddy-wuds gave to me: two dead bodies...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again thank you all SO MUCH FOR YOUR KIND WORDS!!!!! feel free to leave criticism and even theories in the comments below or over at the official blog at [@wigglypaulau-official](https://wigglypaulau-official.tumblr.com)!


	8. hold me closer than before.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which two lovers are reunited. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOF THIS ONE IS A DOOZY!!!!! again, thank you all so much for ur feedback and espeCIALLY your theories!! buckle up, kiddos, this chapter’s gonna be wild

**[ 12/8/18 | 8:41 PM ]**

It had been a few hours since Wiggly’s last broadcast. 

It had been a few days since she was last dragged out of this room to watch someone be killed. 

It had been one _week_ since Emma had last heard Paul’s voice. 

Emma had been locked in the same break room of the HF-101 radio station, served nothing but scraps and small cups of tap water, for over a week. She was a _prisoner._

After that... _awful_ broadcast maybe ten days ago, where Paul had apologized over and over for no reason — Emma had gotten so used to drowning out the speakers that she had almost missed when he first spoke — Wiggly had dragged him back out for “Christmas First,” as he called it. The _thing_ tried to get Paul to sing his own demented Christmas carols with him, which obviously did not go very well.

She always listened, no matter how horrible. Just in case she could hear Paul again.

Emma had been so sure that Paul had died when the portal closed on Black Friday. But then, those ten days ago, not only had she heard his voice, but that _Wiley_ guy had even introduced him as Paul. Which meant one, crucial thing: _he was still alive._ Now maybe there was still a little bit to hang on to, even if they were both still prisoners. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought of escaping, or even _tried_ , there just hadn’t been an opportunity for her to be successful (yet). Every time she’d tried to run out when someone opened the door, she always ran into a large group of those Wiggly cultists. There were always too many of them, and Emma’s size didn't exactly make her a threat. She couldn’t even sneak out on her own either, thanks to the door handle on her side being broken off. Bottom line was: she _couldn’t_ get out. 

In the rare moments of isolation, when she wasn’t forced to listen to the creature that called itself a god, her mind often wandered to Paul: what was his situation like? Could he remember anything that would happen when he wasn't in control? Could he _fight_ it to try to get a hold of himself? How many times had he actually had control so far? All she knew was the tiny bits from the broadcasts, and those were basically _nothing._ She was completely helpless to do anything in her situation, and she _hated_ it.

Emma’s train of thought was interrupted then as she heard footsteps in the hallway. She forced herself to ignore them, hoping they wouldn’t come in here and drag her out. They probably wouldn’t, right? People walked through this hall all the time, and they weren’t exactly the best at being quiet about it either. Just a week ago there had been a _huge_ commotion out there. Yelling, cheering, crashing, and _laughing_ , oh god the _laughing_ . Emma had literally no fucking idea what had happened out there and she didn’t want to know. All she knew for certain was that Wiggly was leading it, and if he was there then it meant _Paul_ was there too. 

The footsteps in the hall grew louder as they neared, and by now Emma could hear voices. _It’s okay,_ she told herself, _they're just walking by._

Then she heard a jiggling, rattling. The doorknob on the other side.

Before Emma could brace herself, the door _swung_ open, slamming against the wall so hard it nearly fell off its hinges. Emma cried out in shock, pushing herself up against the wall. Fearful, she held her breath as the figures in the doorway made themselves known: Linda Monroe (that _bitch_ , she’d recognize her anywhere), that Uncle Wiley guy (fucking denim-clad creep), and— 

_Oh no._

There was no way in hell it could be him. No _fucking_ way. 

“Hey there, short stuff!” Wiley called to Emma as he and Linda dragged the body of the deformed man into the room, practically throwing him onto the floor. He flopped down like a rag doll, a broken whimper slipping past his chapped and bleeding lips. 

Emma refused to believe it. Wiggly couldn’t _change_ him like that... 

“Have fun, you two,” Linda snickered, throwing her head back with a laugh. Wiley couldn’t help but join in as Emma frantically tried to make _sense_ of all this. 

“What the _fuck_?” she cried. “What do you want with me—?” 

She was halted mid-sentence as Wiley pulled the door shut with a loud _slam._ Emma winced at the sound, hearing another _click_ as she was locked in. Now alone with that _thing_ , she crawled over to the other side of the room, preparing herself. He began to stir then, slowly, as if pained, trying to force himself up to a sitting position. 

Then he spoke, his voice strained, barely audible— 

“ _Emma..._ ” 

Emma gasped. His face had been so obscured she forced herself not to believe it, but the moment her name had been uttered, her worst fears were realized — it was _Paul_ (well, Paul’s _body_ , anyways). Oh god, what the fuck had that monster _done_ to him?

“Emma…? Is that you?” He still struggled to sit up, instead just opting to lie back on the floor with his eyes closed as he gathered his strength. 

He was a fucking wreck. Yeah, Emma had seen him (or _Wiggly_ ), a few times whenever she was forced to watch him torture someone, but it had been a while and he hadn’'t looked like _this._ Now it was as if Paul were something straight out of a monster film. Short patches of green hair (fur?) were coming in, replacing the normal color of his hair; the tips of his fingers were cracked, dark, and bleeding, looking as if they ended in a point; his eyes were _still_ bleeding; worst of all, when he opened his mouth, Emma could see that his teeth changed. They’d become sharp, _dagger-like_. 

“Oh, _Paul_...”

Paul’s breathing was labored, shallow, as if he were struggling to take in any air. He had opened eyes and squinted against the light, and when he propped himself up on his arm to look at Emma, she could see that his eyes had changed as well. Ever since Wiggly had been in charge, his eyes had become just like that damn doll’s: all blue, yellow, and red. But now, while they still hadn’t gone back to Paul’s normal blue, his irises looked more human, only now they were a vibrant _green._

And the way they looked into her, heartbroken, practically _begging_ her to believe he was there? It couldn’t be faked by Wiggly. 

“...Paul?”

Emma took a few cautious steps forward.

“Emma...?” 

Paul pulled himself up to rest weakly on his elbows, but otherwise didn’t try to move. 

He just peered up at her as she cautiously studied him, as though she were ready to stomp on his head the moment he said the wrong thing. He couldn't blame her, but...it was still _her._ It was _Emma._

Paul couldn't find his words. His throat burned, his head throbbed, a dull pain pulsed behind his eyes. He was too dazed, pain-ridden, and generally overwhelmed to think, let alone speak, but for a brief moment he found himself able to offer a weak smile for the woman who stood above him. The woman who meant everything to him. Short-lived, as he was hardly in the mood (and he caught Emma flinching at the sight of his teeth again), but still, she took another step forward. Her expression seemed to soften. 

She knew his smile. That gentle quirk up at the mouth, a little crooked, a little practiced, but entirely real. That was her Paul's smile. It had to be. 

“Paul.” Another step. “It's you? For real?” 

Paul forced a small nod and pulled himself up further, just wanting to reach her. It wasn’t smart, he knew. Sense was telling him he’d never been let out for good reason, though still dazed, he couldn't conceptualize exactly _what_ felt wrong about this. All he knew was that seeing Emma couldn’t possibly be a reward. Right then it didn’t matter, though. Nothing stopped Paul from wanting to reach her. 

But he couldn't stand. Noticing this, Emma dropped to her knees beside him and pulled him into her arms, onto her lap, holding him so tight his frail body felt crushed. But he wasn’t going to complain. He noticed that she was _shaking._ Paul wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her sweater. Just for a moment, the pain almost seemed to ease. 

“Emma…”

Her eyes welled with tears. She couldn’t stop them.

“Paul, what—...what’s happening?” Emma immediately let out the sobs the second she opened her mouth. She couldn’t help it. He was _here,_ in her arms, and _she wasn’t fucking letting go._ She should probably be afraid of the reason Wiggly let him out specifically to see her, but she didn’t care, not now. “Why are y-you here? What is he do-doing to you?”

Paul didn’t answer her though. Instead, he lingered on the moment, soaking up the embrace, not wanting to let go either. Emma pulled away a bit, just enough to see him, still holding on to him. Parts of his face were sinking in certain places, particularly his cheeks, his jaw, and under his eyes (as if they didn’t already bulge out enough as it was). She used the sleeve of her jacket to try and wipe the blood running down his face, not caring in the slightest if she stained her clothes. He looked up at her, eyes still bleeding and watering with tears. Reluctantly, she gave up on that and held his face in one hand, running her thumb across his cheek. She felt some stubble in a place that he normally wouldn’t grow facial hair — if he ever even grew facial hair in the first place. 

“You gonna grow a beard on me now too?” Emma smiled a tad as she tried to joke. Paul let out a watery laugh and smiled. That smile, even with those janky ass teeth, made her feel _warm._ They rested their foreheads against each other. 

A moment passed and Emma tried asking her question again. “What’s happening, Paul?”

In an attempt to comfort her, Paul forced a grin, opening his mouth to say, _Don’t worry, Emma, all that matters is you’re safe_ , but before he could make a sound his chest seized up. Damn it, not again. He so desperately wished Emma wasn’t seeing him like this; he _wished_ that Wiggly were more sympathetic, that he would at least spare _Emma_ of all people from this. (At least he hadn’t tortured, mutilated, or _killed_ her, but he tried not to dwell on that too much, lest that gave the sadistic god any ideas.) 

Yet there was no preventing it now, not as the familiar metallic taste filled his mouth. He turned his head from Emma, a horrible, wet cough escaping him. From his mouth, Paul spat up a large amount of _blood_ (and some kind of green shit), red dripping down from his mouth as he shook like a leaf in Emma’s arms, unable to control himself as he fell into a deathly sounding fit.

Once it finally ended, he faced Emma again, flashing his shark-like teeth in a scarlet-stained smile. “D-Don’t worry, Emma...” 

Her face had gone pale. Overwhelmed, she felt tears cascading down her cheeks _again_.

“What the _fuck_ do you mean don't worry have you fucking seen yourself?! What the hell is he _doing_ to you?! _What_ is happening, I—” 

She caught his eyes, fraught with worry. Instantly, she regretted her outburst. 

“I’m sorry, I know you’re scared.” Emma held his head to her chest, combing her fingers through his hair. A few strands came off on her hand; she silently wiped them on her pants. She kissed the top of his head, her heart breaking as Paul hummed softly. 

“It's okay,” he said in a weak, hoarse voice. But Emma shook her head. 

“No, it’s not, Paul. _None_ of this is okay, I just…” She sighed. Everything was so _fucked_ up. “I don't know. I don't _know_ what’s going on. I’m _scared_ and I _know_ you are too and I missed you so fucking much and I don’t want to lose you and I don't know what's happening or what's he's doing to you or making you do and—” 

“ _Emma_ —” 

“I _love_ you, Paul.” 

Their breathing halted simultaneously. She’d said it. Those three words. Emma felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. As she stroked his cheek and they stared into each other’s eyes, they both thought the same thing: why did this have to happen _now_?

“I know I was afraid to say it before.” Emma wiped at her tear-filled eyes, sniffling, smiling sadly. “A-And I’m _sorry._ I promise I’m not just saying it now because I think you need to hear it. I’ve had time to think in here and all I’ve wanted is _you.”_

Paul’s face was cradled in her hands. He’d never felt more safe.

“And I’m not putting the pressure on you to say anything back but I just…I just needed you to know.”

Paul’s expression was soft and sad. He hadn’t minded the absence of “I love you”s — they hadn’t been together that long anyway, but he’d have waited as long as Emma needed. Hell, he’d have been okay if she never wanted to say it, so long as they stayed in each other’s lives. So long as _she_ knew how important he was, she could've kept showing she cared too, in the smaller ways like she did, and Paul would have been perfectly happy. 

They wanted to be happy _now._ She _loved_ him, and of course he loved her, too. 

But the timing fucking _sucked._

Whether he said it or not probably didn’t matter. Wiggly had to know how he felt regardless. But the thought of verbalizing it, openly handing over something that could so easily be used against him (or far worse used to hurt _Emma_ ) — that was **mortifying**. 

So Paul stayed silent. He reached for Emma’s hand and laced their fingers together, careful not to let his jagged nails poke her. He pulled her hand close and kissed her knuckles softly. Even that felt like too much. 

A string of blood and spit trailed from his mouth to her skin. Both of them nearly broke down again.

“I'm sorry…” he mumbled. 

Emma gave a little smile. She brought his hand up to kiss in response. 

“Don't worry, Paul. I hear you loud and clear.” 

He sighed, and they were back to holding each other. Paul traced circles over her back with his hand — that always comforted her. She nestled closer to him, taking in every bit of comfort she could get. How long this would last, there was no way of knowing. All they could do was cling to each other while they had the chance. 

But the longer they sat there the more uneasy Paul became. The image of Emma from his vision flashed behind his eyes. Her mutated form, hazy green eyes, empty of everything that was _Emma._ Paul’s heart began to pound in his chest.

“Emma...” He struggled to sit up, gripping her shoulders. “ _Emma_ , I saw something. He-He showed me what he wants to do, what he’ll...what he'll make _me_ do, and it was-it was _horrible,_ Emma, and the worst thing is what he’ll do to _you._ ” 

Emma’s eyes widened, taking in everything Paul was saying. Her hands found his wrists, holding him gently. “What are you talking about?” 

“H-He wants to _change_ you, Emma,” Paul gasped, starting to pant, “he...in my vision you were this _creature,_ this horrible mutated creature, and he had you on a fucking _leash,_ Emma, it was…”

His bottom lip quivered, and he grabbed at Emma’s face, once again mindful of his sharpened nails. “ _He’s going to hurt you if I can’t stop him._ You have to find a way to get out.”

Paul was becoming frantic, his breathing shallow, irregular. Instincts kicking in, Emma grasped onto his shoulders, pressing her forehead to his. She used to do this every time a panic attack was starting to overwhelm Paul; she always knew the signs. In recalling those gentle, intimate moments, her heart _ached._

“Okay, calm down,” Emma hummed, softly, “that's _not_ happening now. That’s _not_ gonna happen. I'm not going to _let_ that happen, okay?” She let out a long exhale, and Paul found himself slowly breathing along with her. “Also, I can't exactly get out of here if you haven't noticed. No one is really on my side here and I highly doubt anyone is gonna come in here _guns-a-blazin’_ to my rescue.” 

Emma’s eyes darted around the room again, despite the fact that she had looked around this prison a _thousand times_ for anything she could use to her advantage. Nothing. 

“He’s just trying to scare you, Paul. Don’t let it work. I’m fine.” She moved one of her hands from his shoulders to push some of his hair back, out of his face. “It’s _you_ I’m worried about.”

Paul’s panic finally dissipated, his pained, aching muscles relaxing from the earlier tension. Her sweet voice, the way she held onto him — he felt peace return. Of course, the memory of what Wiggly’s world looked like, what _Emma_ looked like (and may eventually look like), still remained fresh in Paul’s mind. Emma had a point, though. Wiggly _could_ just have been trying to scare him. After all, that godlike creature hadn’t hurt Emma like the others, and now he even let Paul out to see her. 

Paul didn’t know whether this made him feel calmer about everything or more terrified. 

“ _Sorry_ , Em, I—” 

Something inside him _crackled_.

A sharp, white-hot pain shot up his spine. He gasped and leaned against Emma for support, whimpering. His body was going through yet another fit, this one much more intense than before, agony like fire spreading through his veins, his blood _boiling._ Shocked, still reeling from Paul’s minor panic attack, Emma looped her arms back around him, unable to do anything but _watch_ his suffering. 

He was so hungry. He was so weak. His body hadn’t eaten or slept or drank or done _anything healthy_ for over a goddamn week. How was he still alive? Why was Wiggly determined to keep him _alive_? 

“Hurts...” Paul moaned, shuddering as he was forced to withstand the torment, his head pounding, tremors wracking his much bonier hands. “H-Happens sometimes...it-it’ll pass...”

Another coughing fit, this time into his hand, blood and green stuff costing it. His throat was swollen, _sore_ , and it hurt to speak. An eternity seemed to go by before the momentary episode passed. By that point, he found the burning in his throat to be little more than a nuisance. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, taking in all the air he could, wheezing. Crimson tears leaked faster from his eyes. “Comes and goes, I-I just...” 

Everything hurt. _Everything hurt._

“Hold me...?”

Paul weakly reached out to her. Emma couldn’t even form words. 

She just sat there, mouth agape; she didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to _think._ All she managed was a quick nod, wrapping her arms tightly around him, body still trembling. He groaned a little bit at how tightly she’d embraced him, and as such, she loosened her grip a bit. She placed a soft kiss on his forehead. He was basically sitting in her lap now, head resting in the crook of her neck. One of her hands held onto his neck, keeping him upright and just barely threading her fingers through his hair. The other wrapped around his body. She ran her hand up and down his arm. His sweater was practically hanging off him. When did he become so _thin_?

Tears silently streamed down her face. They held onto each other for god knows how long, unable and unwilling to let go. Emma didn’t want to waste the time she had with him, though. While she would be happy to just sit here like this, she _needed_ to talk to him, to learn what she can, to reconnect, _to hear his voice._ There were questions she was afraid to ask, but she needed to know. 

“Are you…” Emma paused, not wanting to say it out loud. “Are you dying, Paul?” 

He let out a little scoff against her. Maybe it was supposed to be a laugh. It was hard to tell. “God, no, he would never let me. He needs me alive.” 

“What’s he doing to you?”

“He’s not really... _doing_ anything,” Paul explained, staring off into nothing. “It’s all just kinda happening on its own. And it _hurts_ , Emma. Like _really_ hurts but there’s nothing I can do and...even when I’m not in control he still makes me feel it. Because I’m still back there, watching, feeling, _all the time.”_

Emma’s stomach turned. It sounded as if it was normal for Paul, as if it were _natural_ for him to be sharing a body with a literal god. He pressed on.

“Yeah, there’s stuff he definitely won’t let me hear so then I get some peace but...I’m there.” 

Okay. So he was still there most of the time. Good to know. Not necessarily good to _hear,_ but good to know. 

“How much time do you think we have before he comes back?”

“Not sure. Probably not much longer,” Paul admitted. “I’ve never been allowed out for very long.” 

Emma sighed. She buried her face in Paul's shoulder, trying to soak up as much of him as she could before he was taken away again. He nuzzled her tiredly with his cheek. 

“I’m trying to stop him.” 

All of a sudden, Paul went stiff as he remembered — _the Black and White._

“Emma...there was...this is going to sound crazy—” 

Emma cut him off, playing with his hair. “Nothing sounds crazy right now.” 

Paul’s mouth opened, closed. “Good point.” Clearing his throat as best as he could, he went on. “Um, when I'm out of commission he keeps me in this empty headspace, I think it's called the Black and White. I met a man there, an army general who tried to stop Wiggly. He told me to distract Wiggly so he could—” 

Paul cut himself off with a wince, doubling over in pain. 

No. _No._

  
“Paul?” Emma grabbed his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, expression twisted with agony. “Paul, what's wrong?”

_Best friendy-wends don't share eac_ **_h other's secrets, Paulsy̨̗̦̯͛ͫ҉̢-̧̠͉̕̕Ẅ̡͍̖̪͙́͜͞ą̗̬͆͜͟͢u͐ͬs̬̓̏̒̀͢͡l̨͚ͥ͋̈ͧ̀͢͠y̔ͭ̌̀͟͏!̸̿ͭ̅ͫ͞_ **

_“Shut up!”_ Paul yelled. Emma flinched. “N-Not Emma, you can’t touch— _AAUGH!!!”_

Paul held his head, palms pressing into his skull, nails digging into his temples. A shrill ringing filled his ears. 

_You're being_ **_SE̯̞͈̾͜L̮̯̉̆͘͜͠͡FIS̛̠͜H̷͊ͣ͡,_** _Paulsy. I give you a present and you don't say thank you! You talk about me behind my back_ **_A̧̛͓G̲̺̤͓AIN̈́ͫ̐ͪ̕!_** _What to do with you…_

“Stop, stop, _STOP!”_ Paul cried. 

He could feel himself being pulled away. Wiggly was taking the reins back. Paul clenched his fists, feeling the claws dig into his palms. _Not while Emma’s here. Stay in control. It’s your body. It’s_ _yo_ ** _ṵ̸ͤ̀͝r fu_** _cki_ ** _ng̎́͘͡_** _bo_ ** _dỳ̛̫͉̳͈._**

Fearing for Emma’s safety, Paul tore himself away from her, trying to focus on keeping Wiggly at bay, but the ringing in his ears only grew louder. The pain somehow got _worse._

“It’s my body, it’s m- _my_ body…” Paul chanted, grabbing at his hair, not even noticing the clumps of hair he was pulling out. He couldn’t let him win. He couldn’t, _he was strong, he_ — _!_

~~_He wasn’t._~~

In a moment of weakness, Wiggly managed to take control of Paul’s vocal cords, the familiar laughter bubbling forth as a voice that was not Paul’s own came from his mouth. 

_“Not_ — _an_ **_y̨̗̦̯͛ͫ҉̢m̧̠͉̕̕_ ** _ö̡͍̖̪͙́͜͞re!~”_

Not out of commission yet, Paul smacked his own head against the floor. _Hard. “NO!!!”_

_“Paul!"_ Emma crawled to his side, grabbing his arm. “Paul, come on, you got this.” 

Paul shook his head, looking up at her hopelessly. Though one of his eyes was still sickly green, the other had returned to those horrible doll colors. He was shaking violently, more and _more_ blood dripping from his eyes. Wiggly was laughing, _laughing_ in his ears.

“E-Emma,” he sobbed, overcome with horror as his weeping turned to _hiccups._ “I'm s-sorry…”

“No!” she cried, watching in despair as he began to seize up. _“NO!”_

Emma should have backed away while she still could, she should have been terrified. Hell, she _was_ terrified, but she wasn’t afraid of Wiggly right now — she was afraid of _losing Paul._ So, instead of backing away, she pulled him in. She knew there was nothing they could do to stop it, but she could make it easier for him. She looped her arm under his, pulling him up to her, still shaking and bleeding, and clung onto him as tight as she could, as if the tightness of the embrace would make up for its short length. He convulsed in her grasp. 

“We’re gonna be okay, Paul. We-We’ll figure something out!” 

(A part of Paul was afraid they _wouldn’t,_ but he couldn’t figure out if it was Wiggly or himself.)

In his final moment of control, Paul wrapped his arms around her, only able to mouth the words _I’m sorry_ as his world was consumed in darkness.

His body stopped shaking and went limp. For an excruciatingly long five seconds, nothing happened.

Then, he stiffened up, his nails starting to painfully _dig_ into her back. From somewhere deep, _deep_ inside Paul’s chest, he began to heartily _giggle._ Giggles that were far too uncharacteristic of Paul, too childish, too _creepy._ The truth had unfortunately become crystal clear: Paul was gone. For how long, she was unsure, but now she was trapped in the room with the _thing_ that probably wanted to hang her intestines like Christmas lights. _She was fucked._

The nails dug _harder_ into her skin. Frantically, she tried to pull herself away, but _Wiggly’s_ grip on her was strong. He held her in place as she flailed about. 

“Trying to run from me, _Em-my_ ~?” He crooned as if he were luring Emma in, like an animal stalking its prey. It did little to calm her, of course, and she struggled in his hold. 

He moved his head from Emma’s shoulder, their gazes meeting. Emma _screamed_ — she hadn’t seen those sickly red and yellow eyes up _close_ like this. She felt the god, demon, _whatever_ was possessing Paul’s body staring into her fucking soul. It wasn’t all that terrifying that it was Wiggly. 

It was terrifying because it was _Paul._

“Hush hush~!” Wiggly laughed, cupping a hand over Emma’s mouth as she wriggled about. “You’ll scare the others~ They’ll be _jealous_ of our li-ttle game, Emmy~” 

That was it. With all of Emma’s strength, she pushed, kicked, and punched at _whatever_ it was that was using Paul. Managing to catch him off balance for a split second, Emma pushed him off and tumbled to the floor, scurrying away before Wiggly could grab for her. 

“Now _that’s_ not very nice~” His tone darkened as he watched the woman crawl away, a sickening _crack_ sounding as he tilted his head and bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Trying to run away from your _bestest buddy-wud_ ~?”

“NO! GET AWAY FROM ME, _YOU’RE NOT PAUL!”_

Wiggly threw his — Paul’s — head back, guffawing. “Oh, but I am! Can’t you see~?” 

He gestured to himself, doing a little spin. Emma shook her head, flipping the breakroom table over to put a barrier between them. Wiggly almost looked disappointed. He lifted his head to her, and before she could react, he spoke, but...not with that ear-piercing, demonic voice.

“Didn’t you just say that you loved me, Em?”

_It was Paul’s voice._

“Why are you doing this?” The torment continued. Emma covered her ears. “Don’t you want to be with me?” 

A moment of silence passed as they faced each other. Cautiously, Emma lowered her hands. “P-Paul?” 

No, Paul couldn’t be back yet, could he? Why would he say that? Didn’t he want her to get out? Knowing he hadn’t tricked her, Wiggly narrowed his eyes, flashing his sharp teeth at her. Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth, hanging off of his chin.

“You two could be so happy together in Drowsytown!” Wiggly’s voice returned, a jarring to Paul’s. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Em-my?” He kept stepping towards her, eyes unblinking. “That was just a little hint of what could be if you just let go of the past! Because this, dear sweet Emmy, is his _future!”_

“No!” Emma shouted at him. “That’s fucking sick and twisted! You think I’d just give in to an actual _monster?_ No! I don’t want that, _Paul_ doesn’t want that!” 

Then Emma remembered what Paul had told her. About what Wiggly would do to her. That he would hurt her. Fuck, fuck. She _couldn’t_ let that happen. Wiggly was just trying to take the easy route to that, but Emma was gonna make it a lot fucking harder for him. 

“You’re _NOT_ Paul!” she screeched, defiant, her throat raw. “No matter how much you look like him or _sound_ like him, you’re _not!_ Because you’re a fucking ugly little creep who could _never_ even begin to act like him! And even if you did that it still doesn’t change who you are and _what you’ve done!”_

Wiggly frowned, almost pouting.

“You’re not very nice, Em-my.”

“Yeah, fucking get _used_ to it,” Emma spat.

“You and your Paulsy-Waulsy need to learn how to be good friendy-wends.” His expression twisted back into a smirk. “Don't worry, I can teach you~! I have _so_ many buddy-wuds, all so loyal and happy~!”

Wiggly had reached Emma. He grabbed both of her wrists, too tight, too close to her face, his grin too wide. She tried to pull away but his claws dug into her skin. Against her best efforts, silent tears cascaded down her cheeks. Wiggly took note of this and pouted again, tut-tutting.

“Oh, don’t throw a _tantrum_ on me now, Emmy~ You’ll ruin our game~” Instantly, that twisted, manic smile of his returned. “It's _easy_ to be my friend, Em-my. When you play my game by my rules you always win! Don't you want to _play with me~?”_

“Your game is _rigged.”_

“I play to **win** ~”

“Fuck. _You_.”

Emma hocked a glob of spit in Wiggly's face. He blinked, not wiping at it, and instead tightened his hold on her. His cheshire grin unwavering, Wiggly growled.

“ _Careful_ , Em-my. I don't like to b **r̨̗̦̯͛ͫ҉̢ȩ̠͉̕̕ä̡͍̖̪͙́͜͞** k my toys, but sometimes I can't h **e l p̨̗̬͆͜͟͢ m͐ͬ y̬̓̏̒̀͢͡ s e l̨͚ͥ͋̈ͧ̀͢͠ f̵̴̹̮͚̞̚**.”

This time, Emma managed to rip herself free of his grip. She rubbed gingerly at her wrists where his nails had scratched. He watched as she recuperated, head cocked almost in...fascination.

Instead of pursuing her again, Wiggly strode back across the room towards the door, twirling Paul’s tattered scarf around his hand.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Emma shouted. “What’s your goal here?”

“It’s not hard to learn the rules as we _play._ You're such a smart girl, you’ll figure it out," Wiggly mocked in sing-song. He wiggled his pointed fingers at her in a little wave. “See you next time!”

_“Next time?”_

Flashing her another grin, Wiggly knocked on the door twice. It opened and he slipped out, and before Emma could process what happened, it shut and locked again.

The echo of the door slamming shut ricocheted off the walls. 

She was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> other au stuff over at [@wigglypaulau-official](https://wigglypaulau-official.tumblr.com)!


	9. flash! bang! nothing’s the same.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which tensions rise from within a safe haven. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we CANNOT thank you all enough for all of your kind feedback.... it means the WORLD to us 🥺🥺🥺
> 
> also, we have an instagram account now!! feel free to follow us at @wigglypaul.au if ur interested!!!!! we have a bunch of cool fanart and stuffs there 👉👈

**[ 12/8/18 | 9:21 PM ]**

It was two weeks and counting since Black Friday, and Tim and his father hadn’t talked about anything. They didn’t talk about the mall, they didn’t talk about the  _ actual _ zombie living here with them, they didn’t talk about the mad scientist housing them, and god forbid they talk about the horrifying broadcast that Friday night. Of course, why  _ would _ they talk about any of that? They never talked about the crash, anyway, so why would they talk about  _ this? _

So what did they talk about?  _ Becky. _

Tim  _ understood _ Becky. Obviously, he hadn’t expected his dad to go on the rest of his life never seeing anyone else. Plenty of his school friends had parents who were divorced, so he knew to expect someone else eventually coming into their lives. He didn’t exactly know if a  _ year _ was too fast, though. Not that he was angry at her or anything. Becky was fine. She  _ tried. _ No, reason why Tim was so angry was that the only thing his dad seemed to ever talk to him about, regarding that horrible night, was  _ Becky. _ Not Aunt Emma, not whatever happened to Paul that Tim still didn’t quite understand, not the mall burning down, not whatever was going on in the world. No. They talked about  _ Becky.  _

Tim sat cross-legged on one of the couches in what must have been the seventh living room, leaning into the armrest, playing with a piece of string hanging from the sofa’s material. Maybe he could finally talk about whatever was going on now that the professor had called a meeting for everyone. Tom, Tim, and Becky had gotten there first (his father always told him “if you’re on time, you’re late), then the  _ others _ came in. As if it wasn’t enough that his  _ dad _ wouldn’t talk to him, the only other kid here — four years older than him, but still — would barely even look at anybody. The only friend he could potentially have, and she shut everybody out. 

Tim couldn’t blame her though. She had been in that mall all day, who knew what had happened to her? After Tim had seen her that night, broken and sobbing on the kitchen floor, he knew that she’d been hurt, truly and deeply  _ hurt.  _ He wasn’t sure why he’d begun to cry either, nor did he know why his dad was mad at Lex, a  _ teenager,  _ for the whole ordeal. Just being in the same room as her, Tim could tell that there was tension in the air: and it wasn’t because of Tom’s  _ RENT  _ shirt (a musical he’d adamantly hated for years).

Tim tugged at his own too-big shirt, large enough to hang off of him like a sort of dress. He’d only had one set of clothes when they’d arrived in the bunker,  _ all  _ of them did. Luckily for them, apparently the professor had bundles and  _ bundles  _ of clothes he’d collected over the years. He’d informed them that they were just in case any others wanted shelter; the bunker was  _ quite  _ spacious, after all. Unfortunately, this meant that not everyone wore clothes that fit. Almost nothing fit Tim and Hannah, since Hidgens had apparently not considered children. Everyone wore virtually the exact same things, which were baggy pants and no socks, while the tops were either t-shirts with musicals on them, or turtlenecks. For example, today Becky wore a turtleneck, while Lex wore a  _ My Fair Lady  _ t-shirt, which she apparently hated more than Tom hated  _ RENT. _

Speaking of Lex, across the room, there was something between the Fosters that had never been there before — silence. Okay, maybe not silence in a literal term, there _had_ been silent moments between them in the past, but Hannah had _never_ withdrawn from Lex in such a way before. _Never._ When Hannah needed help, she’d always, _always_ rely on her big sister for it. Now it was as if Lex was a complete stranger to her. Hannah had never exactly been the _closest_ to Ethan before, either. But now she was spending more time with him than with Lex. Ethan would give her updates, sure, but Lex just wanted her sister to talk to her instead. 

The memory of Hannah’s breakdown stayed fresh in her mind. After that night, Hannah didn’t even want to go near her. She avoided eye contact with her at all times. She never acknowledged her sister once. What had Lex  _ done? _

_ “Sooooooo…” _

Lex snapped to attention. Amidst the group’s silence (and Tom’s occasional mutterings about the professor’s tardiness), Becky was the first one to say anything. All five heads turned to her, waiting for her to continue. Lamely, with a shrug, she asked, “What do you think this meeting is about?” 

She looked to Lex, Ethan, and Hannah, trying to bridge the divide as the two groups sat across from each other. 

“Hell if I know,” Ethan piped in, sensing the uncomfortable air in the room. “Uncle Henry’s a crackpot if you ask me. Probably ‘bout stayin’ outta his shit.” He recalled the events in the basement about a week ago, winking towards Hannah. Lex noticed. “He’s pretty private.”

As if on cue, Hidgens abruptly  _ burst _ into the room with his usual dramatic gusto at Ethan’s words, carrying armfuls of notes and setting them down on the coffee table. Tim was so surprised he nearly leapt off the sofa cushions.

“Alright!” Hidgens exclaimed, already getting down to business. “I  _ believe _ I may have formulated a potential plan. After several days of listening to radio waves and scrounging up my old theory notes, I think there may be a way to seek out help.” 

“What do you mean?” Becky asked. 

In response, Hidgens grabbed his television remote, pointed it to the TV, and turned it on. There was a moment of flicking through multiple channels of pure static — almost every channel and news broadcasting system had been taken off the air _worldwide_ — before landing on _something._ A satisfied grin splayed across the old man’s features at what he saw, and everyone else found their eyes glued to the screen.

_ “—it seems America is not only suffering to this unexplainable outbreak of what has been dubbed ‘Black Friday Fever.’ Please brace yourself, as this footage is incredibly disturbing.” _

The screen displayed a female newscaster behind her desk. She looked exhausted, her makeup somewhat messy, eyes bloodshot. A moment later, the TV was taken up with overhead footage that could only be described as pure  _ chaos. _ Groups of feral green-eyed individuals, covered in what was probably blood smashing windows, tackling people to the ground. Fires raged. Buildings collapsed. 

_ “This is Moscow. Within a week, it has been reduced to a wasteland. There have been no updates on what they are doing to fix this. Just as our own president has chosen to remain silent.” _

Before the video footage cut away, the camera zoomed in on a symbol on the wall: the anarchy symbol, spray painted in neon green letters. 

Hidgens paused the live feed, pointing at the still frame of the symbol. “ _ That. _ That is our help.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. Until—

“What the  _ fuck _ are you talking about dude?!” 

—Lex was the first one to speak everyone else’s minds. The professor rolled his eyes, as if the answer were obvious.

“This!” Hidgens pointed to the symbol on the TV as if it were obvious. “This is our help! I have been intercepting radio waves from an unknown group, reaching out, looking for survivors,” he explained, flicking through pages of messily written numbers, letters, and locations. “Communicating through  _ code _ of course, can't risk Wiggly finding and reaching them. But I believe if I can reach out to them and we can get out of Hatchetfield and combine my knowledge of the apocalypse with their forces...well…then we might just stand a chance...” 

Everyone looked at him, considering it. It might just work. There were other people out there who were willing to help them, but...how would they find this group? How many of them  _ were  _ there?. Stepping a foot out of their safe haven was a death sentence, but...they couldn't stay there forever, could they? 

“Well, we are all a team now I suppose. So… does anybody have any thoughts?” Hidgens asked. 

Tom spoke first, shaking his head. “No. This sounds like bullish—” He took note of Hannah and Tim, stopping himself mid-sentence. “...like a trick. What reason is there to believe it's not just more freaks trying to lure us in? If we fall for it we're dead, or worse. There are children here we have to protect, it's too big a risk. ‘Sides,  _ you’re _ the tech person, why can’t you build some kinda phone thingy to communicate with ‘em instead of having us go out and risk our lives?”

Hidgens found himself at a loss for words for a moment, and he struggled to find them. Tom then glanced around the room for support, and only found it from Becky. Lex stood off in the corner with her arms crossed, dark eyes pointed at the ceiling, trying to tune it all out. Hannah and Ethan stayed huddled together in silence. Even Tim just stared at the floor. 

Tom looked back at the professor, prepared for the push-back, which did eventually come — a full two minutes later.

“It’s not that simple,” was his excuse, but before Tom could fire back, Hidgens added, “but look, we can’t just stay here forever! What else are we supposed to do?! We’ll run out of supplies or the power will cut out if they don’t find us first!” 

“Didn’t you build this place  _ specifically _ to wait out an apocalypse?” Becky came to Tom’s defense, and that time, Hidgens found the confidence to speak. 

“For  _ myself!”  _ he cried, desperation thick in his tone. “Not six extra people!” 

He audibly gulped at that. Hannah furrowed her brows, and Becky spoke up again, asking, “What about all those clothes then...?”

“Things are escalating faster than I originally theorized,” Hidgens pressed on, ignoring her. Becky dropped the matter, but she appeared troubled.

(Something about the professor didn’t settle right with Hannah, it never had, and by the looks on everyone’s faces, she wasn’t the only one. Still, he was a valuable asset to them. He was keeping them safe, after all.)

“I didn’t think it would be this bad by now...” Hidgens threw his notes down on a table in front of all of them, papers flying everywhere. “I thought we would get aid from other countries first and that it would be a slow spread but it  _ somehow _ also got to Moscow and spread from there as well, so it’s  _ twice as bad _ than I thought it would be at this point!” 

Everyone leaned in to examine what he had put in front of them. Tim, who had jumped off from the couch to get a glimpse of the action, was distracted by another thing. 

“What’s this?” he asked, holding up the front page of what appeared to be a manuscript. In the blink of an eye, Hidgens snatched it from his hand, face burning in embarrassment. 

_ “Don’t look at that, it’s not finished!”  _ he scolded the boy. Tim held his hands up in mock surrender, taking a step away from the man who’d had such a sudden outburst. Quickly he stocked it away, muttering, “Shouldn’t even be with these notes...”

It seemed however that Hannah, who had been peeking over Hidgens’s shoulder as best as she could, had not been shielded from the apparent “forbidden notes” that the professor had gotten shaken up over. Her hand flew to her mouth as she suppressed a giggle — it one of the most genuine expressions of happiness she’d displayed in  _ weeks. _

A grin, comforting and warm, spread across Ethan’s face. He stood beside Hannah as he watched his weird Uncle Henry fumble about, his snort not so subtle. 

_ (you suppose he’s hidin’ his twilight fanfiction?) _

Hannah bit the inside of her cheek to contain her laughter as Ethan spoke to her. Well, okay, it wasn’t exactly “spoken,” per say. Hannah wasn’t sure how it had happened, but that day when the two of them had gone into the dark, damp basement of the bunker, their connection had  _ strengthened. _ All it took was Hannah grasping his arm, and now they could communicate without even opening their mouths. This had certainly helped Hannah relax over the past week after the second incident with Wiggly, as now she felt she truly had someone to share her experiences with, who struggled in the same way she did. She once thought of her powers involving the Black and White as a curse, but now, with Ethan, it was her salvation. 

When it came to Lex, however, Hannah wasn’t sure if she could do the same thing. The sister hadn’t even tapped into the Black and White at all, at least not to Hannah’s knowledge. It worried the younger Foster, but she didn’t want to ask her about it. Not now. 

_ (it’s way worse actually) _

Focusing her mind away from not so pleasant thoughts, Hannah flashed Ethan a grin as she responded. 

_ (he’s working on a musical or something and it’s really bad) _

Ethan slung an arm around Hannah, side-eyeing her as it seemed Hidgens  _ finally _ managed to find what he was looking for. Lex watched the two from afar, noticing their interaction, feeling a pang of...jealousy. 

_ (christ let’s hope not he’s terrible at writing literally anything i’d much rather read edward x jacob fanfiction) _

Hannah would’ve laughed out loud if the professor hadn’t finally spoken up. It appeared as if, during Hannah and Ethan’s “internal” conversation, Hidgens had abandoned his notes and turned his attention to the pair, as if he’d somehow  _ heard  _ them. Hannah went completely still.

“You there..” He looked in Ethan and Hannah’s direction, an almost  _ crazed _ look in his eyes. He pointed to Lex as well, licking his lips. “The  _ three  _ of you. You were in the Black and White, correct?” 

Dumbly, Ethan and Hannah nodded. Lex, however, didn’t give any indication of a response. Something didn’t feel right. Still, Hidgens went on.

“Then maybe you can see what these... _ things _ are planning and we can come up with the best plan to move forward.” 

Ethan, Lex, and Hannah all looked uncomfortable at that suggestion. Silence.

_ “Well?! _ I don’t see anyone coming up with anything else!”

Lex’s hands curled into fists. Hannah could easily tell what Lex was thinking, and that wasn’t even regarding the negative aura she was unknowingly emitting. A headache began to pound in the back of Hannah’s skull as she looked at her older sister; she averted her gaze, shutting herself away from the Black and White, trying to ease the pain, the anxiety. But no matter what Hannah did, nothing would quell Lex’s simmering fury, which was now finally reaching its boiling point. 

“Really? Are you  _ serious, _ Mr. Apocalypse Man?” the oldest Foster cut in, stepping forward. The room was so quiet one might have been able to hear the dropping of a pin. “Don’t you  _ dare _ even think about using Ethan  _ or _ Hannah, or  _ any _ of us for your dumb fuckin’ plan, or whatever.” 

Hidgens seemed  _ hurt. _ He smoothed out the wrinkles in his turtleneck sweater, clearing his throat. “Young  _ lady, _ our choices are very limited, I’d prefer it if—” 

_ “I’d  _ prefer it if you left them outta the picture, alright.” Her eyes, filled with regret, met with Hannah’s for a split second before she stared down at the floor. “I think you gotta point about these revolutionary groups, or whatever. I’ve seen some stuff online, it seems legit.”

“Listen, Lex…” Tom spoke up then with a sigh, shocking Lex, and she spun around to face him. “All of this is bigger than you kids, alright? This is a real, dangerous threat.”

Lex glowered at her former teacher, teeth clenched. “I  _ know _ that.”

_ “No,  _ I don't think you do,” Tom snipped, tone sharp, authoritative. As he spoke, Lex could barely keep herself composed, biting her lip hard enough that she drew blood. “We're in the middle of a crisis situation. These riots could turn to war any day now, and we have no clue where could be safe or not. We have an option, though - we have insight into whatever this is. Nobody else has got that, we've won the damn lottery as far as I'm concerned, and I think we should take advantage. We should use your guys’... _ power _ to make a game plan.”

Lex’s expression had darkened considerably; Hannah gulped; Tim clutched onto the table. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Don’t you fucking  _ tell me _ what I do and don’t know, Mr. Houston,” she growled, pointing a trembling finger at him. “Oh, so it’s fine to fuckin’, uh, shelter your son, keep  _ him _ safe, but my sister? Ethan? Nope, they’re not your fuckin’ problem, huh?!”

Color drained from Tom’s face, his once confident stance diminishing. “Listen, Lex, it’s not—”

“No no  _ no,” _ she butt in, laughing humorlessly, “don’t tell  _ me _ to listen, when  _ you _ won’t even listen to your own fucking son. You’re goddamn  _ selfish _ and only care about yourself. No wonder shit fell apart after the crash.”

Everyone else, who were mere onlookers to this sudden confrontation, stopped breathing. Tim swayed, feeling like he was going to throw up. His father didn’t look any better, either. 

_ “Watch your tone, Lex,”  _ Tom's wavering voice raised. “You don't know a goddamn thing about me or my family.”

“Oh, so you know about mine?!” Lex yelled.

“You are not an authority on this!” Tom’s words filled the room, echoing throughout the bunker. “You’re not an authority on  _ anything, _ Lex! I know you think you are, you think you’re so mature, that you don't need school, that you can just go off and survive on your own, but you  _ can't! _ And you can't tell me how to take care of  _ my son. _ You're a  _ child, _ Lex! You should know that, since you insist on  _ acting like one!” _

“You’re such a fucking  _ coward _ you  _ know that?!”  _

Time stopped. Shock and disbelief painted Tom’s features. Tim’s anger had reached its boiling point, his hands tightened into fists, eyes full of tears. He knew Lex was right — she was right about  _ everything. _

Overwhelmed and confused, Tom pointed a finger at Tim and yelled, “Watch your language!” 

He indicated for the boy to sit down. He did not.

“You would rather put someone else at risk than even  _ think _ about doing the same to yourself,” Tim went on, his tiny body trembling with the effort. Tom didn’t know whether to hold him or to discipline him. He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.

No one else knew what to do. Speechless, they all remained still and  _ watched. _

“I’m doing this for you,” Tom stated, desperately trying to shut this down. But it wasn’t enough.

“If you’re doing it for me then maybe listen to what I have to say, huh?” the boy shot back. “Maybe  _ actually _ talk about what happened? Of course, why would we though? We didn’t talk about the crash, so why would we talk about this?”

Tom was silent. Tim wiped his tear streaked face with his shirt.

“I should’ve expected that you’d be willing to offer them up to get yourself out of this because it’s the  _ exact _ same thing you did with Paul!” 

Tim remembered driving away that night, leaving Paul and Emma there. He didn’t know if it had already been too late for Paul, but there was still Emma.

Tom remembered too.  _ There was still Emma. _

“Tim, that’s not fair—”

“We could have gone back and saved Aunt Emma, but  _ no!  _ You  _ left _ her there!”

“It was  _ too dangerous _ to go back for her!”

“It was too dangerous for her to go to the mall to get you but she did it anyway!” 

Tim was shouting at this point, unable to hold back as tears of fury came out of his eyes. Tom stumbled back in shock, both at his son's anger as well as it finally hitting him that Emma and Paul had been captured trying to  _ save him. _

“That was…” he stammered. “That was her choice, Tim, it’s... it’s not that simple.”

“She’s Mom’s  _ sister!”  _ Tim yelled, voice breaking.

Tom's throat went dry. He was officially out of excuses.

The tension in the room was thick. Tom looked around, again searching for some kind of support, but everyone averted his gaze. The only eyes on him were his son's, glaring daggers at him. Tom's mind raced for something to say, but he came up empty.

That was when he felt Becky’s gentle hand on his shoulder as she stepped forward.

“I think…” Becky paused, trying to choose her words carefully. “That conversation is definitely one to be had. But at another time. We need to figure out what we’re going to do next rather than talk about what we can’t change.”

“We  _ are _ talking about what happens next!” Tim was hysterical, shaking, fighting back tears. “I’m-I’m not just going to let my dad throw another person under the bus because he  _ thinks _ he knows what I want! I don't  _ want _ to risk a-another person!”

“Okay, so we know what you want. We know what your dad wants. We know what Lex wants. How about we ask Ethan and Hannah how they feel about it, huh?” 

Becky had brought up a point no one else had considered yet. They all turned to face the two for a response — more specifically, they looked to  _ Ethan. _

Which meant all eyes were on him, and that was the  _ last _ thing Ethan wanted, especially now.

“Whoa, whoa.” He waved his hands, watching his uncle nervously. “First off...we ain’t some kinda lab rats that you can just poke at. I just got these powers, and fuc—  _ hell,  _ I _ died _ for it.”

One of his hands found Hannah’s shoulder.

“Hannah here’s had it all her life and she don’t even know how to control it. And-And Lex is right: she’s just a kid. Not too much older than Tim.”

“Exactly,” Lex confirmed. _ “None _ of us are being thrown to the wolves here. We’re trying to fucking —  _ survive!” _

Blessedly, everyone grew silent after that. Tim, refusing to even face his father anymore, his arms crossed over his chest, decided he’d had enough. Overcome with emotion, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Tom’s heart sunk as he watched his son leave. Becky’s hand found his. Ethan held onto Hannah tightly, while Lex stood off to the side, alienated from her family. All of them stood, unmoving, grappling the weight of the situation. 

“Jesus fucking  _ Christ.” _

Their attentions centered on Hidgens as they heard him sigh, watching him scramble for his notes and other papers. His grey hair was unkempt, some strands sticking to his forehead, matted with sweat.

“I  _ thought _ I could have a civil conversation with you all,” he grumbled (Ethan almost thought he resembled an angry grandpa, but now was not the time to make jokes), “but you  _ all _ had to lose your minds. You  _ really _ can’t even keep it together when we’re in the middle of a  _ fucking apocalypse???” _

None of them knew what to say. The rage in Lex hadn’t simmered, and without the professor noticing, she shot a sharp glare in Tom’s direction. She was right.  _ Everyone _ knew she was right. But fighting would only worsen their situation.

Hidgens knew all too well that if they kept this up, they would all fall apart.

“Get it together,” Hidgens ordered, addressing Lex and Tom specifically. “Since reaching into the Black and White isn’t an option...I’ll see if I can figure something else out.”

With that, he was gone, in a much subtler, quieter manner than when he’d entered. The moment he left, Tom breathed out a  _ fuck,  _ burying his face in his hands, knowing he’d  _ fucked up.  _ Lex didn’t show him any pity, even as Becky tried to console him, rubbing his back.

_ “Christ.”  _ The teen’s nostrils flared. She turned away from the broken man to see her boyfriend, holding her little sister.

“Hannah...” Lex tried to reach out, embrace her with Ethan, but Hannah did something that made her body lock up — she  _ jerked away. _

Despair painted Lex’s features. Ethan hadn’t the time to object before Lex was gone, having retreated to her room.

“Lex...” Ethan lowered his head, letting his eyes slip shut. He needed to talk to her about...whatever he and Hannah were going through. For now, he embraced Hannah, staying put until Becky silently gestured for the two to leave, to give her and Tom space as she helped him to the sofa, drying his tears. 

Taking the cue, Ethan nudged the girl who held him for dear life. “Banana Split...”

Hannah nodded and they exited the room, beginning their slow trip to her bedroom, not speaking to each other. Well — not out loud, anyway.

_ (he’s lying) _

Ethan arched his brows. He stuffed his hands in his leather jacket pockets (the one piece of clothing he thankfully managed to keep).

_ (whaddya mean han?) _

_ (the professor’s keeping something from us) _

Hannah swallowed thickly, staring at the floor.

_ (i found a book of his in the basement it was his old journal and he wrote something in it about the black and white) _

Were Ethan alive, he would’ve stopped breathing.

_ (he WHAT) _

_ (i don’t know) _

She shook her head and lifted her chin. In the back of both of their heads, they heard the laughter of a god.

_ (i’m scared) _

_ (me too banana) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls feel free to comment below!! we’re also open to any critiques or even theories!!!!


	10. i’m coming apart at the seams.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which love starts to fall apart. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2K+ HITS YOU GUYS!!!!! YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT MEANS SO MUCH TO US!!!!!!
> 
> seriously, we really can’t thank all of you guys enough for all of your comments and other media you’ve made for this fic 🥺🥺🥺🥺 
> 
> (triggering content ahead for this one: body horror, limbs falling off)

**[ 12/13/2018 | 7:23 PM ]**

It would not be out of line to say that Emma absolutely fucking hated it here.

She had been living in the same room for what, two, three weeks now? (Turned out that tick marks on the wall with a marker weren’t the best way to keep track of time. She mostly relied on the broadcast for what day it was.) By now, everything had fallen into a routine. She would be delivered small plates of food twice a day — maybe a larger portion if Wiggly was in an especially good mood — she would wash herself with the soap and water from the bathroom sink, and attempt to wash her clothes in that same sink without wasting any of the soap she would rather save for her body. She’d then brush out her hair with a comb she’d found in an employee’s abandoned purse and sleep on top of the table, her jacket bunched up under her head. 

To keep herself sane, she’d watch whatever channels were still running on the television in the room. Though, as time passed, TV shows and other entertainment had gone off the air, the only available channels being the news,  _ all  _ of it being video coverage of the state of the world. And then, of course, she would be  _ forced  _ to listen to the broadcast through the speakers, or worse — be dragged out to  _ witness  _ it.

This was all a normal day for Emma now.

Expect that she actually hadn't been dragged out as of late. Ever since the last time she saw Paul, she hadn't seen Wiggly either. And while that might have been good for her, she had no clue how Paul had been holding up.

She still knew practically nothing. When he was here and awake, she had tried to get info out of him, but he hadn’t been able to say much at all. It seemed like he wanted to tell her something important before he was pulled back in and she was left with  _ nothing. _

That was, until recently.

A few days ago, when Emma had been  _ trying _ to sleep, she heard someone walking past her door. It sounded like it was Wiley, talking about the search for something, or  _ someone,  _ in particular. She tuned in, trying to make out his words the best she could.  _ “Another vessel”  _ is what she heard. That was the extent of the information she could gather as the voices had faded out before she could hear anything else, leaving her to theorize about what the  _ hell  _ that could possibly mean.

It was so  _ fucking _ frustrating.  _ What the fuck did it mean?  _ She  _ obviously _ wasn’t supposed to know about it, and there was no one she could ask. She was  _ alone. _

God damn it, she just wanted to  _ fucking talk to Paul again! _

Emma still hadn’t forgotten what Wiggly said to her the last time she saw Paul: _“See you next time_.” That _had_ to mean she was going to see Paul again, right? And from the bits she had heard from him on the radio — the _real_ him, the one that that Wiggly would only let out on certain occasions to _fucking torture him_ — Emma _knew_ that he was going to be in even worse shape than before. She didn't exactly know how that would even be possible, and she tried not to think about it.

She went about her business as she scrubbed the grime off herself, cleaning her hair, rinsing off her sweater, still wearing the camisole she had on underneath. Not wanting to dwell on thoughts about Paul, she redirected her mind to other things. Like how Jane didn’t have to be here to witness this, how Tim had made it out safely with Tom, how Paul might have a chance to escape if there was another vessel…

_ Fuck.  _ She was thinking about Paul again.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose to clear her mind, tapping her fingers against the sink basin to try to come up with new things to think of. Because she couldn’t come up with  _ anything, _ she decided, albeit frustratingly, to settle on the task at hand.

She had been in the bathroom, combing through her wet hair, when there was a  _ clink  _ of the door unlocking, followed by a  _ creaking.  _ Emma froze for a moment, and before she could call out for  _ Paul,  _ there was a  _ thud. _

_ Slam. _

The room  _ shook _ as the door was forced shut. Emma’s head whipped in the direction of the bathroom doorway before staring back at her reflection in the grimy mirror. She was tense, her jaw clenched. Wiggly’s sickening taunt was on a neverending repeat in her head —  _ See you next time see you next time see you next time. _ Was this the next time? Ten days of isolation and now he was going to subject her to that torture  _ again _ ? As if the radio broadcasts weren’t fucking  _ enough???  _

“Paul...?” His name came out in a broken whisper. Swiping her hair over her shoulders, she forced herself to breathe as she stepped out of the bathroom, preparing herself for whatever she was about to see. How had Paul’s condition worsened? What had changed about him? Would all of his hair be gone? Had his hands become claws? 

Upon entering the break room, Emma found it was  _ much _ worse than she could have ever anticipated. 

_ “Paul—?!”  _

She rushed over to his limp form on the floor, shocked to find that he was somehow conscious despite the  _ state  _ he was in. Briefly, she stopped herself, considering her actions. Paul might not be the one in control. Wiggly might attack her at her most vulnerable. She stood above him, keeping her distance, looking him over. 

Then he opened his eyes, almost painfully, and Emma  _ saw _ those doll-like eyes that she knew belonged to Wiggly  _ only _ — horribly yellow, blue, and red. Truly, she’d meant to turn from him then, to curse that fucking “god” out again, but then he  _ opened his mouth and— _

_ “Emma...” _

Her knees buckled beneath her. No. It wasn’t Wiggly. It  _ had _ to be Paul. 

What had that demon thing  _ done to him? _ His eyes seemed  _ permanently _ changed now; she had a feeling that his blood would never stop leaking from them (like  _ fucking _ tears). His fingernails appeared sharper, more jagged, and his  _ fingers _ — why did some of them look  _ black _ ? 

“Paul...” 

On her knees now, she shuffled forward, nervously reaching forward, ready at any moment for Wiggly to take over and attack. Her fingers brushed over his Christmas sweater, and  _ Christ _ , it was  _ destroyed _ . It was torn in numerous places, stained with dark red and green (a  _ mockery _ of the traditional Christmas colors). And the smell? Fuck, Emma had to repress a gag. The stench of rotting meat (bodies?) and vomit hung around him, and she wanted to  _ cry _ because it was  _ Paul _ and he didn’t  _ deserve this. _

“Hey...” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she moved to sit beside him, resting his head on her lap. He looked half out of it, his eyes wandering around the room aimlessly. “Paul, it’s okay. It’s Emma. I’m here now, yeah?”

“Em...”

The nickname seemed unintentional, like he’d run out of breath halfway through speaking. He pulled in a heavy breath as Emma ran her fingers gently through his hair. The patches of green from before had fully grown in, filling in the clumps of hair he’d lost last time. His stubble had also grown, into little green markings up his neck and along his face. Emma brought her hand to his cheek and found the markings softer than she’d expected — almost like  _ fur.  _

“Oh, Paul...” she said softly. 

Paul remained still in her hold, though normally he would have nuzzled into her palm. God, he had to be  _ exhausted.  _

He looked up at her, eyes almost pleading. “Hurts, Em..”

“I know. I’m right here, Paul, I’ve got you.”

She sat quietly with him for a few minutes, wishing she could just soak up his company. But she had to ask him about what she'd heard. If there was even a chance he knew  _ anything, _ it would be better than nothing. 

“Paul...what do they mean when they talk about another vessel?” She stroked his cheek. “Do you know who it is?”

Paul’s eyes seemed to widen for a moment, as if he were surprised she’d heard anything at all. He blinked and shook his head. 

“I don't know,” he said. “Let’s...let’s not worry about it. I don’t think it matters.”

“I feel like it's important—”

“I don’t  _ want _ to talk about it.” 

Emma’s mouth closed and she frowned, taken aback. He’d sounded so... _ insistent.  _ Before she could ponder as to why he’d reacted in such a way, his expression fell back to exhaustion, his head pressing against her like he was wordlessly begging for comfort. 

“Just want you to hold me...” he mumbled. “Please, it hurts so bad...”

“Okay, okay...” Emma forgot the issue for the moment and held him closer. “I’m right here, Paul.”

She kept repeating it, promising she’d always be there. No matter her history of running off — even if she probably  _ could _ — she wouldn’t leave him. Any chance she could get to be with him, to hold him and  _ comfort _ him, she would take. 

Paul gave a soft, muffled chuckle then, looking up at her with sad, tired eyes. 

“Don't promise that,” he sighed. Her brows furrowed. “You shouldn’t have come back to Hatchetfield at all. Then you wouldn't have to deal with this.”

“Don't say that,” Emma shook her head, bewildered. “If I didn’t come back I would never have met you.”

Another chuckle. “Am I even worth it? Is anything you came back for worth it?”

Emma did a double take.

“...what are you talking about?” 

“All of this can’t be worth it just for me, right?” Paul laughed weakly,  _ bitterly. _ Emma’s mouth ran dry. This wasn’t right.

“You know I came back for Tim,” she explained. This was an odd question for him. While Paul  _ did _ have a habit of self-deprecating himself every now and then, he wouldn't put Emma on the spot like  _ this. _ “But...if it didn’t work out and Tom  _ wouldn’t _ have let me see him...I dunno, but I think I would have stayed for you.” 

“Would you stay  _ here _ though?” His eyes met hers directly. “For  _ me?” _

That was a  _ big _ request from Paul. Emma paused for a second to think it over. Of course she didn't  _ want _ to stay there, but she didn’t want to leave Paul behind either. 

“...I don’t know?” She shrugged, gulping, feeling uncomfortable. “Can we not talk about that? I don’t want to make you feel guilty when it’s not your fault.” 

“Sorry, I just...” He trembled. “I need reassurance.” 

“I know,” she nodded, brushing at his hair, “but I  _ do _ want to be here with you now.”

She gave him a soft smile. He nodded a bit and dropped the subject, though he didn’t seem too happy about it. Strange.

It was silent for a little bit longer. Emma fiddled with the holes in his sweater as he lay there. Paul didn’t do anything but sit still, didn't try to hold her, didn't try to comfort her, nothing. Not that she could, or  _ would, _ blame him, of course. What  _ could _ he do, really? His hands looked as if they had been run over, his pinky and ring fingers all dark and shriveled. They had to  _ hurt, _ yet he looked content enough as if he were about to fall asleep right there. 

“Does it feel better now?” she asked, hopefully. “The pain? You were in pretty bad shape last time and you seem to be handling it better now.” 

It  _ really _ didn't look like it, based on his hands alone, but maybe he  _ had  _ been able to handle it better. Instead of a response, he closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh, as if reminded of how bad it was.

“Emma...” 

There was a weak cough, followed by a chilling noise that sounded too close to a death rattle, and for a moment Emma feared that Paul had  _ died _ . One glance at his feeble form confirmed that no, that wasn’t the case — it was much worse. 

“I’m sorry...” His breath hitched as he shifted where he laid, struggling to speak let alone move. (Emma gulped, swallowing her tears as she got a better look at his mouth: his human teeth were gone, and in their place, were those awful jagged fangs.) “I’m sorry, b-but...this m-might be the last time...” 

Emma held her breath. Paul watched her, full of pity, of sadness. 

“W-What do you mean...?” Her voice was thick with emotion. With tremendous strength, he reached up and caressed her cheek, smearing blood and god knows what else on her skin. 

“It...fuck, I dunno w-what to say, but...” He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever he was going to say next. “H-He said that if you don’t give in, I-I’ll be gone. Forever...” 

Neither one of them made a sound. Neither one of them breathed. 

“I’m s-sorry, Em...”

It took a moment for Emma to process his words.  _ Give in? _ What did that mean? Why didn’t anything make  _ sense? _

“So...he's gonna kill you if I don't give him what he wants?” A lump formed in her throat when Paul nodded. “Well, what  _ does _ he want?”

He grimaced. “He actually wants to help you, if you can believe it. Give into your desires, and it’ll get better...for the  _ both _ of us.”

No. That didn't make any  _ sense. _

Last time Paul said that Wiggly would never let him die. He almost had a  _ panic attack _ telling Emma that she needed to get out. Paul was so protective to the point that when the Greenpeace girl once approached her on the street, he picked a fight with her to leave Emma alone. Now he was telling her that she needed to give into the will of a god that he  _ knew _ wanted to hurt her?

Something didn’t add up. 

“Paul...no. I’m sorry.”

He blinked slowly and knit his brow in confusion. His demeanor seemed to  _ change.  _

“Did-Did you hear what I just said? Em, I’m going to  _ die _ , you aren’t going to  _ help me?” _

This was wrong. Wrong.  _ Wrong. _

“Paul, I think he's doing something to your head,” she said, trying to talk sense into him. “Just like a week ago you were  _ begging _ me to get out, you said he was going to hurt me if he got what he wanted! I-I  _ can’t!” _

It was hard enough for her to say that. She didn't want to upset him, and  _ of course _ she didn't want him to die. But he’d warned her  _ for a reason, _ and she couldn't let that happen to herself. 

Paul just looked at her, shocked, at a loss for words. 

“I’m sorry...” she whimpered. A single tear fell from her face. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying in the first place.

The expression of hurt on Paul’s face as he pulled himself away from her sent a pang through Emma's heart. 

“I...I can't believe you,” he whispered in disbelief. “This is the only chance he’ll ever give us, Em. He's making us an  _ offer, _ we can be  _ together _ this way—”

“Paul,  _ please, _ y-you’re not thinking straight,” Emma sniffled, wiping her eyes.

“I’m  _ dying, _ Emma!”

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. Paul was in a horrible state, his desperation dangerously walking the line of anger. Whatever Wiggly was doing to him was taking its toll, even more than she had thought. 

“You  _ told _ me he wouldn’t let you die,” Emma insisted. “You're  _ tired _ and  _ hurting _ and he’s taking advantage of that, Paul, he’s-he’s in your head and he’s using you to try and get into  _ mine.” _

“And if it  _ is _ true?” Paul's voice was breaking. “You’d-You’d just risk letting me fucking  _ die?” _

“It’s  _ not _ true, that’s what I’m saying!”

Emma moved towards him and took his face in her hands, looking into his eyes. They looked nothing like his, nothing like  _ Paul _ . 

_ But that was the point, _ Emma reminded herself. She ran her thumb over his cheek. He shook like a leaf.

“Calm down, Paul,” she kept her voice steady. “Think this over. He’s just fucking with you, and you  _ can’t _ let it work. You  _ can’t _ let him manipulate you, you’re stronger than that. I know you don’t think this is best. I  _ know _ you don’t want to let him hurt me.”

His eyes were wide for a moment, innocent,  _ scared. _ In an instant, however, they narrowed, his lips curling back in an angry snarl, revealing those  _ horrible _ dagger teeth. 

“I get why Tom didn't want you around,” he growled. “You’re fucking selfish,  _ Em-my.” _

There was a single beat of silence as Emma's stomach dropped. She pulled her hands back, away from his face like he had burned her. She shuffled backwards. 

_ “Emmy?!” _

The silence was deafening. The pair stared each other down, waiting for one of them to do something,  _ anything _ , tense and on edge. Paul’s face went blank; Emma’s was full of disgust and horror. 

Then, as if removing a mask, Paul’s face warped  _ completely _ . The corners of his mouth upturned, stretching into a face splitting grin, showing off his pointed teeth as slime oozed down his lips, hanging off his chin. Not once did he blink as his eyes, open and bulging, raked over her. 

She was a fucking idiot. She hadn’t been speaking to Paul that whole time. 

“Looks like you caught me, fair and square~”  _ Wiggly _ giggled, no longer hiding behind Paul’s real voice. Still grinning  _ agonizingly _ wide, he tilted Paul’s head and pulled his legs together, sitting cross-legged. “You’re not very good at playing pretend,  _ Em-my~” _

It took Emma a good bit of staring at him to actually process what happened. God, why the  _ fuck _ hadn’t she remembered that he had copied Paul’s voice before!? She had let that  _ thing _ get close to her. Fuck, she gave him info on Tom and Tim...he was trying to trick her and manipulate her  _ using Paul’s body as a disguise! _

Anger bubbled up in her chest, yet there he just  _ sat there, _ smiling at her like they had just had a nice chat. 

“Or, maybe you  _ are _ good at it~ You seemed pretty convincing last time when you told Paulsy you loved him,” the creature teased, all too pleased with itself, the smile on Paul’s face  _ unnatural. _ “But I guess that was  _ pretend, _ too, if you wouldn’t have ended his suffering  _ nowwww...”  _

He  _ laughed,  _ and that was it.

Emma lunged at him, not thinking of any consequences or what would happen next. She thought she had him for a second as his thin body was pinned under her, but with strength from  _ somewhere _ he flipped them around, overpowering her as her wrists were pinned to the ground. A feral smile crossed his face as blood dripped onto her with him looking down at her. 

“Oh, so you like to play  _ rough~” _ He didn’t seem too interested in keeping her there, though, as he loosened his grip,  _ letting  _ her shove him off. 

“Get  _ away _ from me!” Emma cried out at him, backing away again. 

“You seem like you would much rather talk to Paulsy Waulsy~” he said as if he was  _ disappointed _ that Emma didn’t want to be around him. She couldn’t help but  _ explode. _

_ “YEAH DO YOU FUCKING THINK SO?!”  _

God what a goddamn  _ idiot _ she had been letting him in like this! He  _ knew _ he could use Paul against her. She  _ gave _ him that advantage. 

“I think he wants to see you too!” Wiggly said then, convincingly enough, and Emma paused.

_ Would _ he? No, he wasn’t going to let Paul back out. He wouldn’t do that. Wiggly wanted to play mind games with her again. 

She owed it to herself and Paul not to let that happen. 

“How stupid do you think I am, knock off grinch?! You can’t trick me like that  _ again!” _

“Oh,  _ Em-my,”  _ Wiggly cooed mockingly. “It’s cute that you think you've figured out the rules already.”

Before Emma could say anything else, the body being puppeteered before her seized up, and promptly crumpled to the floor like a marionette cut from its strings. Emma stepped backwards, awaiting the inevitable sick twist or trick. 

All that came was muffled screaming. 

Paul's body writhed on the ground, an image of clear agony. Emma’s heart twisted, but she was unconvinced. 

_ “Get up,  _ you fucking faker,” she snapped. 

His cries weakened to whimpering as he pulled himself onto his elbows, facing towards Emma with his eyes shut. Blood streaked his cheeks. 

“Real convincing,” Emma scoffed. “If you’re going to pull this shit you’d better look me in the fucking eye!"

His eyelids twitched. “E-Emma, it’s— fuck, I’m so  _ sorry...” _

His eyes slit open for just a moment before shutting tight again. He doubled over, crying out in pain. As he curled into himself on the floor, shaking violently, Emma felt her heart ache for him  _ again. _

He whimpered into the floor, so soft she could barely hear him: “I'm sorry, I'm  _ so sorry... _ I'd  _ never _ ask for that, Emma, I'm so sorry...”

This vulnerability was something Wiggly hadn't even attempted to capture. Emma’s hands clapped over her mouth as she realized this really  _ was _ Paul. She hurried to his side and dropped to her knees, taking his arms in her hands. “Fuck, Paul, I'm sorry, he tricked me, I—” 

“N-No, don't be...” Paul searched for her, letting her pull him upright. He fell against her chest. “Fucking  _ dirty liar...” _

His eyes were still shut. It made Emma uneasy. 

“Paul, can you...can you look at me?”

Paul groaned just at the thought. His head was throbbing, his eyes pulsing, like there was something behind them trying to push its way out of his sockets. Still, always willing to do anything for Emma, he turned up towards her and blinked them open as wide as he could manage. 

That bright, sickly green from last time was back. Not the colorful doll eyes, just green. Emma sighed. It hadn't been a mutation — those eyes meant it was Wiggly. 

She would remember next time. 

She held Paul's cheek tenderly as he looked up at her. Suddenly his left eye started to twitch, and for a split second Emma almost thought she saw something moving beneath his skin before—

_ “AAAUGH!” _

Paul ripped his hand from Emma’s to slam over his eye, collapsing against her from the wave of horrible pain that crashed over him. Emma held him tighter. 

“Paul, what's wrong?”

“Th-There's...there's something  _ in there, _ in my  _ eye, _ I...I don't know what's happening,” he panted.

Emma didn't know what to say. That was okay though, Paul didn't expect her to. How  _ could _ she?  _ Nothing _ could have prepared either of them for any of this. 

He curled into a ball and leaned against her, staining her camisole with the blood constantly leaking down his face (which was now probably caused by whatever was happening in his  _ fucking eye _ ). She pet his hair, tucking his head underneath her chin, and just held him as he shook.

He was in  _ much _ worse shape than last time. He couldn't even talk to her without being cut off by a cry of pain. Constantly wincing, showing off those dagger fangs even more. Pressing his hands against his eyes, bringing Emma's attention back to his fingers.

This was his  _ real pain. _

“What um...” She hesitated, not wanting to bring up a sore subject. “What happened to your hands?”

There was a shudder as Paul withstood another wave of pain, this one thankfully much tamer than the last. Keeping his eyes firmly shut, he managed to raise one of his twitching hands, pulsing with a fiery agony. Emma noticed the lines of concentration on his face as well as agony. He was  _ struggling _ in every sense of the word.

“D-Don’t know,” he groaned, frustrated that two of the digits on both hands refused to  _ move. _ Worse than that, he couldn’t  _ feel _ them. Though his world was momentarily shrouded in darkness, he could still see it clear as day: his fingers, blackened, gangrene,  _ rotting. _

Paul wondered if Wiggly was wrong. Maybe he really  _ was _ dying. (If so, would he be able to speed up the process?)

“Alright, alright, we won’t talk about that...” 

Emma gently massaged the base of his neck, his shoulder, and though he’d initially flinched, he gradually eased into the comforting touch, his torture almost entirely forgotten as she spoke again. 

“Paul...look.”

There was hesitance in her tone. Both of them were on edge.

“When Wiggly was here, he wouldn’t talk about it,” she began, moving her touch away from him now, “but...the second vessel—”

Paul’s body  _ pitched _ up in terror. Emma let out a terrified squeak, covering her mouth. For a moment, she feared that Paul had been taken over by Wiggly again. But no, his eyes were still closed, and he was  _ wheezing, _ breathing in and out with terrible gurgling sounds. Paul was still there. Shaken to the core, but still  _ there. _

Who was the second vessel and  _ what  _ was it for?

“Emma,” Paul started, reaching blindly for her bloodstained camisole, “don’t bring it up,  _ please. _ I-I honestly don’t know what it is, or  _ who _ it is, or what it means, but it-it’s important to him. Just from the mere mention of it, he’s—”

_ Were you two  _ **_l̗͛ͫ҉̢o̠͉̕v͍̈́e̗̬͆b͐ͬi̓̏̒rͥ͋̈d̔ͭ̌s̹̮̚_ ** _ talking about the dearest second vessel~? _

Too late.

_ “S-Shit,”  _ Paul pressed his palm to his temple. Emma’s pulse quickened.

_ “Paul?” _

_ Secrets, secrets, are no fun, if you share with  _ **_everyone~_ **

The echo of the last word rattled in Paul's skull. He surged back, already feeling the blackness pulling him in again. It was harder to fight back this time, and he was already weaker. Still he tried, as Emma looked on in panic.

“No, no, that's  _ not fair,” _ she protested, crawling back to his side, “we barely even—” 

“He d-doesn't  _ play  _ **_fair,_ ** _ Em-my!” _

Her heart sank, Paul's expression twisting into a pained, involuntary grin. He shook himself and it wiped away, leaving nothing but fear.

“Paul,  _ c’mon,” _ Emma pleaded.

She grabbed for his free hand to keep him grounded. 

There was a sickening  _ crack _ and she gasped. 

Instantly recoiling, she  _ screamed  _ as his pinky finger detached from his hand and fell to the floor. She yanked her hand back, covering her mouth in horror. 

His finger had  _ fucking fallen off! _

_ “...hehehe *hic* hehehe *hic* hehehe *hic* hehehehehehe!” _

Emma didn't have to look at the eyes to know Wiggly had come back.

Once again in control, the god stared at the pinky finger for a moment, before picking it off the floor, holding it like it was a treasure.

_ “Oopsie!”  _ he giggled, shaking the digit about.

Emma was frozen in shock and fury. She felt her hands clench into fists.

“Get out.”

“Oh, is Em-my not having  _ fun?” _

“I said  _ get out!”  _ Emma cried, jumping to her feet.  _ “GET OUT, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!!” _

Wiggly didn’t show any sort of reaction in the  _ slightest _ to her outburst. Not a twitch, not a gasp, nothing but pure  _ delight _ in those ghoulish eyes. His twisted grin widened. Emma backed away from the abomination wearing Paul’s skin, struggling to breathe.

“You’re  _ cute~ _ Paulsy thinks so, too~” he cooed, eyes not tearing themselves from her, a predatory glint in those unnaturally blue irises despite the fact that he hadn’t even attempted to approach her. “You think you can control me?  _ Hehehe... _ you’re fun to play with, Em-my~ You think Paulsy-Waulsy can  _ stop me  _ from playing  _ puppeteer~” _

Emma readied herself for another attack, adjusting her stance and tensing herself up. Instead of tackling her to the floor like he had earlier, or even doing  _ anything _ to her, Wiggly faced Paul’s body from her, strolling towards the door, happy and carefree. He was leaving without having left so much as a  _ dent _ on her.  _ Again.  _

“What the  _ fuck _ are you doing?” she spat as she watched him knock that  _ same _ rhythm upon the door as he had during the last visit. The thing inside Paul shook with that awful hiccuping laughter. His head rolled to the side, glancing behind him towards Emma. (She swore she saw something... _ wriggling _ under Paul’s skin, around his eye.)

“Keep playing the game, Emmy~” Wiggly explained as the door opened, flicking Paul’s torn off pinky with a giggle. Slime and blood trickled from Paul’s ears. “Then you’ll get your reward~”

He was gone. Fury blinded Emma, and she grabbed one of the foldable chairs in the room, hurling it against the door. The wood chipped. 

No one was coming to save her.

Staring at the rotted and broken digit that once belonged to Paul, Emma fell to her knees and let out a loud wail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes!! that can’t be good!!!!!
> 
> pls feel free to follow us on our tumblr or instagram for the au!!!!!


	11. that runs the blood of your kind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which an old friend returns. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER CHAPTER!!!!!
> 
> sorry this one took so long agghhh!!!!! we’ve been having a lotta fun in the discord server for this au, so ignore any of you wanna join (and interact with the wiggly bot), pls comment below!!

**[ 12/15/2018 | 12:36 AM ]**

Another week stuck there. Another week of complete _isolation._

Hannah knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell that they were leaving the bunker. They’d all seen what it was like out there, whether it was from videos posted on social media or live footage on the news. It was for their own good, for their _safety_. Yet, if that was so, why did safety have to come at a price? Why did they all have to fall apart? 

Tim slept in a room further away from Tom. The boy didn’t even seem to acknowledge his existence anymore. (Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Hannah heard sobbing, heard words like _“I tried, I tried, I’m sorry Jane I’m sorry,_ ” followed by a woman’s soothing words.) No one knew what the professor was doing, and it bothered Hannah, but she feared the conflict that may arise should she tell them what she’d found in the basement. So, exploring their newfound connection, she confided in Ethan. Ethan, who shouldn’t have died in the mall, who would never grow old, who Hannah was sure she wouldn’t outlive anymore, who wasn’t _breathing anymore._ Every time they embraced or high-fived each other, she _felt_ him, felt the absence of life. Had she never run away like a _coward_ with— 

_The doll._

She shook her head, opening the fridge, alone in one of the three kitchens in the place. The TV played some cartoon in the family room, where she assumed Tim was. Tom didn’t join him anymore. In the first few weeks after Black Friday, Hannah had observed the two, father and son, spending time watching kids movies and shows. Sometimes Becky was there. Had Tim been so _angry_ then?

Hannah remembered when Lex would watch TV shows with her. Back when they would sneak to Ethan’s and stay there overnight, or sometimes even a week. If Mom was having a particularly bad week, she’d be more nosy, give them more restrictions when it came to seeing him. Hannah remembered when their mother had called her big sister a _whore_ ; after that night, they never saw Mom again. 

She missed spending time with Lex. 

The more time Hannah spent with Ethan, the less either of them even saw Lex. She didn’t even try to approach Hannah anymore. Even when it was just Ethan and Lex, Hannah noticed that the air around the two was _different._ It reminded her of _that_ night, when Tom’s son had exploded in front of him. It wasn’t _right,_ and Hannah hated it. She hated all of it. She hated that the professor wasn’t being honest, she hated that everyone was so angry at each other. 

Most of all, she hated that Webby wouldn’t talk to her. She was too afraid to reach into the Black and White herself, for fear of coming across _him_ again, but it was as if Webby had disappeared completely. _Why would she do that?_

_(ethan)_

Hannah stared up at the starry sky, nibbling on a nacho cheese Dorito chip. She’d snuck out through one of the many back doors — all she had to do was ask Alexa to open the door, no lock combination or anything — and was now lying on her back upon the grass, bundled up in a heavy blanket. It was a clear night, the entire solar system laid out for her, the moon illuminating the world around her. 

It never snowed in Hatchetfield. 

_(ethan are you awake)_

She sighed, licking her fingers clean of the cheesy dust. Ethan wasn’t awake. She was alone, an isolated observer. To keep her mind busy (she couldn’t keep dwelling on everything, she couldn’t cry again), she focused her attention on the universe before her. Webby was out there somewhere. Hannah knew it. It was only a matter of time. 

God. This was all Hannah’s fault. She was hurting everyone. She was the reason Ethan was _murdered._ She was the reason everyone hated her. She had to make this right. 

Her mind flexed, her eyes slipped shut. Concentrating, she reached out, just a bit... 

_Haaaaan̗͛ͫ҉̢a̠͉̕ä͍́a̗̬͆a͐ͬh̓̏̒hͥ͋̈h̔ͭ̌h̹̮̚..._

The temperature outside, already low and biting at her skin, dropped considerably. Her eyes snapped open. 

_(nonononon onono)_

Hannah sat upright, breath getting caught in her throat when she saw 

_(how did it come back how how howhowhow)_

the last thing she ever hoped to see again — _the Tickle-Me-Wiggly doll,_ sitting not a few feet away from her. 

_(ethan ethan ethanethanethan)_

“No...no no no...” 

It had _changed,_ and Hannah felt fear clawing at her insides, the absolute terror, the _disturbance_ in the Black and White. The toy appeared tattered, torn in various places, stuffing sticking out of it. Red — _(bad blood bad blood)_ — and green goo dripped and dripped and _dripped_ from it. 

_You thought t̿ͭ̅h̯̞̾ả̮̆t͌͛̂ would be the e̛̠͜n̷͊ͣḑ̛͓ o̲̺̤f̈́ͫ̐ m̎́͡ḛ̸ͤ~?_

Her voice didn’t work. No scream escaped her. 

_(ETHAN ETHAN ETHAN WAKE UP!!!!!!!)_

The deafening rattle in Ethan’s head was reminiscent of a fever dream. 

He’d been sleeping soundly within the bunker when it happened. All he saw was a small shadow, in the shape of a girl. The rattle grew steadily louder, blaring in his ears until it carried Hannah’s cry to him like she'd screamed into a bullhorn.

Ethan shot up in bed in a cold sweat. Were he _alive,_ his heart would have been racing. 

_(ETHAN HELP ME)_

“Hannah!” He stumbled out of bed, barely avoiding tripping over his feet as he rushed from his room and down the hall. He stopped, looking around for her. 

_(ETHANNN!)_

It sounded closer somehow, like she was guiding him. Following it as best as he could, Ethan made his way to one of the back doors, but when he tried the knob it was locked. 

“Hannah?” He jiggled the knob frantically, but the lock didn't budge. He could _feel_ her distress — she hadn't locked it this time. He even tried commanding Alexa to open the door. Nothing. “Hannah, I'm here! I'm locked inside!”

Hannah _jolted_ to her feet, no longer immobilized by her own fear. It was Ethan’s muffled cries that helped her find her voice— 

_“ETHAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!”_

She stumbled away from the doll, the doll that had begun to _move,_ tripping over her own feet more than once, her breathing erratic and painful. Her gaze never left the thing that had begun to advance on her, the green light _blinding,_ its eyes too realistic, the blood _(BAD BLOODBADBLOODBADBLOOD)_ leaving a trail behind it. Her cries shook Ethan to his core and he began to tug on the knob harder. Not even the Alexa connected to the door could open it, and though he tried, he couldn’t ram through it. 

“Hannah—!” 

“Ethan,” Hannah whimpered, now at the door, pushing with all her might, but it wouldn’t budge. It wouldn’t _budge,_ and it was getting closer! 

“Get away, get away—!” 

_Awww, Hannah~_

The fake fur was matted with blood. Hannah’s head throbbed painfully. 

“Can’t open, can’t open...” 

_We’re gonna get you, Hannah. We’re gonna geeeet you~_

_(NONONONONONO)_

Ethan hung his head and grabbed it, the amount of energy that reverberated overwhelming. It wasn’t Wiggly’s presence — it was _Hannah’s._

_Not another peeeep~_

Hannah didn’t even notice that she was screaming, the sound piercing, _raw._ Ethan was banging on the door now, trying to get through to her with his mind, but to no avail. 

_It will all come to fruition on my birthday, Hannah~ Hehehe *hic*~ And then we’ll come for you, we’ll come for Ethan, we’ll come for that_ **bitch** , _Lex, and nothing can st—_

Her vision went bright green. 

Seconds later, wheezing, sight returned to the girl. She was on the ground, a few feet from the door, her limbs wracked with tremors that weren’t from the cold. Surveying the land before her, her heart stopped: the doll had _exploded._ Entrails were strewn about, blood was splattered on the grass, and the green slime was _everywhere._ Some of the fluids _(no get it off get it ofgetitoff)_ had stained her hands. _There was blood on her hands..._

She collapsed, curling into herself, sobbing. The door clicked open. 

_(im sorry im sorry imsorryimsorry)_

Finally, Ethan shoved through the door. His body stiffened as he saw Hannah splattered in colorful gore, viscera and stuffing, most of which had been strewn on the yard. 

“Hannah?” His voice was caught in his throat. “What's going on?”

Hannah looked up at him, eyes bloodshot, teary, and hopeless. The lingering speck of green light in her irises blinked out. 

“I’m _sorry,”_ she whimpered. 

She looked so small. She _was_ small; she was just a _kid._ She shouldn't be going through any of this. 

Ethan sank to the ground beside her, brushing his hand over the small of her back and waiting until she nodded to pull her into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. He squeezed her tight, remembering how he'd seen Lex comfort her. He rubbed her back and swayed her gently. 

“I’ve gotcha, Hannah. It’s okay,” he said. “He was messin’ with you again?”

Hannah nodded, burying her face in the crook of Ethan’s neck, unable to stop trembling. Her face was wet with tears as she sobbed, every gulp of air a painful struggle. She smelled the blood. She smelled the **death.** And it was coming for her. 

It was coming for her family. 

_(been coming to me ethan the doll’s been coming to me and he’s been so horrible and he’s gonna get us ethan i’m so sorry i didn’t tell you i’m so so so so sorry)_

His arms tightened their hold on her, his hand stroking her hair, wiping away the patches of fur and chunks of slime. 

_(he’s gone now han don’t worry)_

_(he’ll be back he’ll be back)_

Ethan let out a breath and lifted the girl, hardly even a teen, in his arms, carrying her trembling form to the door. Hannah buried her face in his chest, warming his icy skin, fingers bunching up his shirt. Not once did he stop whispering soothing words as they crossed the threshold, closing the door behind them with his elbow. 

For a split second, he saw a figure down the hallway. It disappeared into the shadows. 

* * *

Hidgens had been in the basement working when he’d heard the disturbance. 

It seemed that everything nowadays had him on edge. Listening to live torture 24/7 did that to a person, he supposed. But he was strong, and in this instance he _knew_ he’d heard something that was a cause for alarm. Maybe an explosion? He wasn’t sure, but in the middle of the night in the apocalypse, anything warranted being checked out. 

When he’d ascended the stairs, he’d heard what sounded like a young girl (Hannah, he’d reminded himself). As he’d walked past Ethan’s door, he’d noticed it was open; peeking inside, he discovered that Ethan was nowhere to be found. Hidgens had decided to keep moving. 

One of the emergency exit doors had opened. Slowly and quietly, he’d peered in. Outside, he saw Ethan holding Hannah, the two sitting together on the field. It was dark, the moon barely offering any light, but from what he could see, there was _definitely_ something splattered on the ground, a horrid green color mixed in with it. 

And then he’d seen the tufts of like green fur.

_SHIT!_ Hidgens had thought in that moment, backing away. _SHIT SHIT SHIT!_

Hidgens had hurried away to make sure he wasn’t discovered, needing to check his research to see what he had on... _whatever_ was happening. At one point, he’d hit a creaky floorboard as he scurried away, but no matter — surely they were too distracted to notice that of all things. 

Having reentered the basement, Hidgens knew exactly where to go. He had tried not to bring up these particular notes during the meeting. He wouldn’t utilize unless _absolutely_ necessary, which, at the time, they were not. Now he had to check his hunch, confirm his suspicions. 

Which was when Ethan appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Uncle Henry.”

Hidgens startled. His nephew walked down the steps with his hands in his jacket pockets, appearing wary. The professor had flinched when Ethan spoke, and the look the teen gave his uncle was one of caution. An uneasy feeling in Hidgens’s gut told him that Ethan suspected that he was hiding something. Something he _shouldn't_ have been hiding from a bunker full of survivors. 

Hidgens scrambled to keep a hold on his notes. Ethan squinted.

“Whatcha up to?”

“Oh,” the old man gasped, forcing a tight smile, “it's just...my manuscript. Yes, you know how self-conscious I am about it.” 

Hidgens’s smile faltered as he stuffed the notes back in the box and slipped the top back on. Ethan was still looking at him, seemingly easing up a bit after the excuse. His anxiety calming, Ethan’s uncle let out a breath and addressed the teen.

“Listen, Ethan um, I didn’t really get to hear your thoughts the other day. About potentially finding a solution. It seemed everyone else did it for you and I wanted to know what you had to say.”

Ethan sighed. He was about to start, opening his mouth, but Hidgens went on. 

“I’m not trying to use you. I _want_ to phone others for help before anything else, I believe that's the best thing to do. But...this potentially involves you more than anyone else. What did _you_ want to do?"

The two stared each other down, Hidgens waiting with bated breath for a response. Eventually, Ethan rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. 

“Look, Uncle Henry, I get where you're comin’ from, okay?” he began, and the professor was all ears. “You’ve got good intentions and I really think you’re doin’ the best you can with all this shit, lookin’ after all of us.” 

He tipped his head back and stuffed his hands into his pockets again, rocking forward like there was weight on his shoulders. There was a noticeable shift in his attitude. Hidgens gulped. 

“But man, I said this before — _I’m not a lab rat._ I barely know how this shit works, I...I don’t feel comfortable having that kind of pressure put on me, y'know?” 

The professor glanced down, shuffling around the other papers on his desk. He looked back up and opened his mouth, but Ethan spoke again. His tone sharper this time, a _clear_ warning. 

“And Hannah’s just a kid, so I really hope that’s not your next angle. I won’t let you mess with her, no matter what. You’d have to deal with me _and_ with Lex, and I _really_ don't think you want that.”

Hidgens’s blood turned to ice. Mouth running dry, he nodded. “Yes, of course, I understand...if you have any other suggestions, please, let me know. It seems everything _I_ come up with gets shot down by one person or another.” 

Well, it wasn’t like Hidgens had expected anything different from him, but it was at least worth another shot without certain _influences_ around to sway him. Still, Hidgens knew this wasn’t why Ethan had come down here, and so he inquired, “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you down here? And at such a late hour? Did you need help with something?” 

He was hopeful Ethan would come clean about what Hidgens had seen. Maybe he was seeking his help and expert knowledge; maybe Hidgens wouldn’t have to hide or admit to spying on them; _maybe_ this would all work out.

Ethan stared off. “Just checkin’ in.”

_Or not._

He continued: “Hannah, uh, she had a nightmare. Got out of bed. I was just gettin’ her back to sleep. Heard movement around an’ you're the only other one up so I figured I’d check on ya."

Ethan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The secrets in this bunker were getting to be too much, and Hidgens assumed that his own... _strange_ behavior was not making anyone feel at ease. No doubt now that if Ethan were to share what he and Hannah were going through with anyone, it most certainly would _not_ be Hidgens. The professor grimaced.

“Seems like you're fine, though, so I'll head back to bed.” Ethan turned from his uncle, as if he were ashamed to face him. “Night, Uncle Henry.”

He began climbing the stairs. Hidgens watched him go, considering and then deciding against telling Ethan what he’d seen.

“Goodnight.” 

Once Ethan’s footsteps had gotten out of ear shot, the professor quickly reopened the box he had thrown his papers into, pulling out a journal and flipping to a certain page.

**_November 13th, 1984_ **

_Midnight. All of us have gathered tonight to hunt down this true evil. There will be a day, mark my words, when the world is overrun with monsters. They all laugh at us, but those very monsters are living among us. Some are not even from this dimension, and we believe we have found someone who can see into this dimension, this Black and White as we have heard it called. We do not know how this power is granted to certain individuals, if they are even from this Earth in the first place, but we have determined it is hereditary. Steve and I have reached out to them, asking them to participate in a “class experiment” so we can test the reach of their abilities. It may be...unethical to do this without their full knowing consent, but what else are we supposed to do? This is for the greater good. And they never have to find out...do they?_

Hidgens sighed, setting down his notes, his memories, his _mistakes._ He had a second chance — he’d do it right this time. But it was still dangerous, and the risks and circumstances this time are a lot different than back then. He would have to proceed with caution. He had risked losing everything last time, he couldn’t do it again. If he did, it would mean that everyone in the bunker, Paul, Emma, and _everyone_ trapped under Wiggly’s control, would have to suffer the consequences.

He wouldn’t be the cause of any more death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and critiques are welcome!! (as well and theoriesssss)


	12. emma, i’m sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which a deal is made and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. SHIT. ANOTHER 7K+ WORD CHAPTER. ONLY THIS ONE’S MUCH LONGER. OOF.
> 
>  **MAJOR TW AHEAD!!!**  
>  gore, murder, body horror, and MAJOR eye trauma!!!!

**[ 12/18/2018 | 12:34 PM ]**

It was a beautiful winter’s day. 

Freshly-fallen snow blanketed the ground in shimmering white, crunching softly under Paul's boots. The crisp air felt light and welcoming. Trees along the block were strung up with lights. Wreaths hung in the frosted windows of a few local businesses, while others showed snowflakes and Santa Claus decals. A little tacky, but they were nicer than signs advertising holiday deals. Paul sighed. He could do without the constant advertisements, consumerism being jammed down his throat. Especially for that creepy monster doll. Still, the holiday season in Hatchetfield was always nice. A sweet couple with a young daughter smiled and waved at him from across the street. Though he didn't know them, he waved back. 

As he approached Beanie’s, Paul wound his chilled hands into his grey scarf. _Let's try not to forget Bill's caramel macchiato this time._

He spotted Emma through the window and his heart leapt. She caught his eye and smiled. Along with the jingling of the bell, Paul brought a breeze of cold into the coffee shop with him, though no one seemed to shiver. 

“Hi, Emma!” Paul greeted brightly, approaching the counter. “How's work going?”

She groaned. “How it's always going: shitty. But you caught me right before break so I can make you a couple of things that I _know_ will be spit free before we get going.” She grabbed the things to start making the drinks. “Black coffee and….?” 

“Caramel macchiato,” Paul blurted out before he could forget. 

“Caramel macchiato,” Emma repeated. “That'll be $14.50.”

“For two drinks?”

“Aren’t you buying my latte with hazelnut too?”

Of course he was. And of course he gave her a twenty dollar bill so she could keep the change. He observed as she began making all three drinks, sliding his black coffee over to him first. 

“You seem really happy today man, what's up?”

Paul’s fingers closed around the coffee cup, lifting it and stirring it around. _One, two, three,_ he mentally counted, hyper aware of the fact that his breaths were coming in shallow. He could do this. No anxiety would stop him from carrying his plan out (even if his heart _was_ pounding so hard it hurt, feeling like it would burst from his chest any second). Raising the drink to his lips, he took a sip of the hot, bitter liquid, willing himself not to grimace at the taste. 

“Emma, I, um...” A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it. “Can...we talk?” 

Emma glanced up from where she’d been busy making Bill’s drink. She recognized the look on Paul’s face — this was serious. 

“Um, sure thing.” She finished up with the caramel macchiato, sliding it onto the counter. “Lemme finish up with my drink first and we can talk in the break room, mkay?” 

It took a great amount of strength for Paul to simply nod back, his head feeling heavy. As he watched Emma mix up her latte, his palms began to clam up, hands trembling. The various outcomes of what could happen next kept flashing in his brain, every circumstance worse than the last. It was going to be a failure. She was going to hate him. She wouldn’t want to see him anymore. _He’d lose her._

Paul tightened his grip on his coffee, shaking his head, counting down from ten under his breath. No, he told himself, it was going to be fine. He needed to stop worrying all the time, damn it. 

Once Emma popped the cap on the cup, she faced Paul with a smile, to which he reciprocated with a tight grin. She lifted the latte to her mouth then and gestured for Paul to follow her to the back. He left Bill’s drink on the counter. 

“What’s got you so worked up, man?” she asked as they entered the break room. Paul felt his face grow hot, already fumbling for words as he closed the door behind him. Really worried now, Emma set her cup down on the table and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Paul...?” 

“I-I have something to _tell you—!!!”_

He was tapping his fists together frantically. He stole a glance at Emma, her hand still on his shoulder, her brows creased in concern. “Go ahead.” 

Paul pulled in a deep breath and locked his fingers together, drawing his thumbs over his nails as he spoke. 

“I think you're really great. I've had a lot of fun with you these last couple of months, you...you make me really happy, Emma. I like what we've been doing, hanging out with you is _great._ And if-if you still don’t want to label it I get that, I don’t want to make this weird for you, I just—” 

“Paul, you’re rambling.” 

“Right, right, sorry.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just want you to know you can shut me up if I make you uncomfortable. But I don’t want to feel like I'm hiding from you, either, so uh…”

“Come on, man, you're making me nervous.”

If she was nervous, Paul was dying. His heart pounded so hard he’d swear his ears were throbbing. Though his fingers were still threaded together his hands were shaking. God, why did he feel this way? Even if Emma said no, she'd never be cruel to him. He knew that. At least, he _thought_ he knew that — oh god, he’d dug into a new rabbit hole, having to _remind himself_ that Emma was not cruel. If she could hear him thinking like this that would be the end of it for sure. Paul wanted to smack himself. She wouldn’t just cut him off for this. She wouldn’t. 

_Deep breaths, Paul. It's fine._

He looked back at Emma, who gave him a tight-lipped little smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder. He shut his eyes and ripped the bandage off. 

_“I might be falling in love with you!”_

Complete silence followed. Hopeful, Paul watched her expression as his confession sunk in. 

And then, as if his skin were hot to the touch, she withdrew all contact from, avoiding his gaze. 

“Oh. Um. I, uh...I’m sorry, but I thought this was more casual?”

Her words felt like a kick to the stomach.

“Like...you’re great in the sack but that’s all I'm really getting from this.” 

Paul’s knees wobbled. He was choking. “O-Oh...” 

“And _maybe_ we could be friends with benefits but I _really_ don't want you thinking this will become something more because I'm just...not interested in you. And if you’re like in love with me or whatever then this really isn't going to work if you act all pathetic about it." 

Her tone had grown harsher the more she went on. Paul hadn’t been paying full attention at that point anyway. He couldn’t stop replaying what she’d said, over and over in his head: _You’re great in the sack but that’s all I'm really getting from this._

"I-I'm sorry...” Paul tried to apologize, “I—” 

But Emma wasn't done yet. Looking him dead in the eye she delivered the final blow: “I just... God, Paul you had to go fuck up a perfectly good thing we had going on.”

There were no words. Paul couldn’t form any. In a matter of seconds, Emma Perkins had ripped his still beating heart from his chest and crushed it into nothingness. His vision blurred; his mind went blank. His scarf became too tight, strangling him, and he fought for air. Emma’s icy stare bore into his own, and despite being considerably taller than her, he felt unbelievably small. 

_My fault,_ he thought, eyes growing wet with tears. Emma had now turned from him, but he couldn’t forget her expression, how annoyed and frustrated she’d been. _My fault. My fault. My fault. I shouldn’t have said anything, I hurt her, I hurt her._

A chill swept over him, and then he remembered: it never snowed in Hatchetfield. 

Paul’s anxiety faded, an uneasiness growing in its place. Since when did it snow? It was a well known anomaly that snow never fell in the town. He couldn’t remember when that had started. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember...anything that he’d done all day. He knew that Bill had asked for a caramel macchiato, but he never recalled the moment in which his friend had done so. He didn’t remember arriving at CCRP at _all_ , in fact. What day was it? What _time_ was it? Why did it suddenly grow so _cold_? 

There was a flash behind his eyes then, and he stumbled, gasping — _Black Friday._ The portal. Wiggly. The radio station. How could he forget?

It wasn’t real. It was just another fucking _nightmare._

“ _You’re not Emma._ ” 

At that, Emma spun around, frowning. Standing tall, he narrowed his eyes at her. It wasn’t her. He had to keep telling himself that. _It wasn’t her._

“Uh...the fuck?” She knitted her brows in confusion. “Yes I am? Jesus, Paul, the fuck’s wrong with you. God, I never should’ve hooked up with you—” 

“S-Shut up!!!” His hands curled into fists at his sides. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. This _thing_ acted just like her. Too much like her. It only made it harder for him to speak to her (it) like this. “This isn’t fucking real.” 

Paul shook his head, slowly advancing towards her. “You’re not her. Fucking _admit it._ ” 

Emma jumped back, and Paul paled. He was scaring her. 

_No, no, it’s not her!!!_

“Fuck off, creep,” she spat, grabbing her latte and walking past him. “I gotta sing for these customers. And unlike your weird ass self who doesn’t enjoy _fucking musicals,_ I’m going to enjoy it. Fucking hell.” 

Paul blinked. She reached for the doorknob. 

“Emma _hates_ singing for customers.” 

The air around them became thick.

**“...HEHEHE-** **_HIC!_ ** **HEHEHE-** **_HIC!_ ** **HEHEHEHE-** **_HIC!”_ **

When “Emma” turned around, her eyes were engulfed in bright green, her head thrown back in the laugh. Paul’s heart dropped to his stomach as her form began to crumble into dust, green smoke seeping out from her. Paul stumbled even further backwards. He thought the setting around them would dissipate too, but he was still in the Beanie’s break room, lights flickering out, backing towards the door as Wiggly showed himself. Tentacles spilled over the floor and Paul picked up his feet frantically. Those green eyes squinted at him through the dimness, like Wiggly was grinning. 

_“Oh Paulsy-Waulsy~...did you have to end the game so soon~?”_

“Oh, fuck _off!”_ Paul yelled. “That wasn't even convincing!”

Wiggly's laughter shook the break room. Though he knew it wasn't real, Paul found himself gripping the door handle for leverage. 

_“You want to believe that, don't you~?”_ Wiggly mocked, his tone shifting into pity. _“Poor Paulsy-Waulsy, strung along playing a game with no reward.~ So scared his Em-my will leave him~ Too weak to keep her close, make her play_ fair~”

Paul's heart was still pounding, but it was steadier now. His hands clenched into fists. His face burned with fury. 

“Emma's not a fucking _prize_ to me!”

Paul's voice shattered, his teeth clenched, chest heaving. Miraculously, Wiggly was silenced. He had succeeded in upsetting Paul, just not in the way he'd expected. The silence lasted a good few seconds as Wiggly shifted his tactics. 

_“What is she, then~?”_

“She's—!” Paul stopped himself, trying to reign in his temper, forcing himself to take a deep breath. “She's my friend.”

Wiggly squinted again, his laughter barely audible but still making its way under Paul's skin.

_“Lit-tle palsy Em-my...only a friendy-wend.”_ He giggled. _“Never any more~”_

“So what?” Paul snapped. 

_“You can_ lose _friendy-wends just as easy, you know~”_

Paul’s mouth twitched. His hands flexed, fists tightening. He'd never thought of himself as an angry man, but god his blood was boiling. 

_“Try as hard as you want, Paulsy, she'll be_ my _friendy-wend veeery soon~...”_ Wiggly continued. _“Tiny Em-my will be my_ bestest _buddy-wud~!”_

“No she won’t.” 

_“Everyone gets bored of their_ toys _eventually, Paulsy~ Even Em-my.”_

Paul’s rage boiled over. He didn’t even realize he’d grabbed a knife until it was buried to the hilt in The Thing That Wasn’t Emma’s shoulder. 

Everything went _red._ All of the rage that had been stirring deep within had reached its peak as he pulled the blade out, sickened as _Wiggly_ let out an agonized wail, the mutated form of Emma flailing about. Paul wiped his face of the thick substances that sprayed his face from the wound, a horrible mixture of red and green, but that didn’t stop him. He wouldn’t play Wiggly’s fucking games anymore. He was tired of being defenseless. No one would suffer by his hands anymore. 

“ _FUCK YOU!!!_ ” He was screaming, his cries like those of a hurt, terrified animal. He clutched not Emma’s throat, plunging the knife into her stomach multiple times. His sweater was stained with blood and slime, sticking to his skin. He was too blinded by rage to care. “YOU WON’T HURT HER. _YOU WON’T FUCKING HURT HER YOU SON OF A FUCKING BITCH. I WON’T FUCKING LET YOU CONTROL ME ANYMORE!!!!!_ ” 

_Fucking bastard, fucking bastard, FUCKING—_

“Paul?” 

Paul’s vision returned. Emma stared up at him, eyes wide, glazed over. He was covered in blood, _red_ blood, the warm substance coating his hands. The knife was still lodged in his stomach. _The knife was still lodged in Emma’s stomach._

“What...?” A trail of crimson dropped from the corner of her mouth. “ _Why_...?” 

There was a horrible wet gasp before the life faded from her eyes and she fell against him. 

“...Emma?” 

Oh god. Oh fuck. What had he done? He couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t _feel_ anything but the weight of Emma’s lifeless body and her blood, her blood that _covered_ him, and he could taste it in his mouth and oh god oh god— 

_“EMMA!!!!!!”_

Paul fell into a heap on the floor, saltwater streaking across his blood-splattered face as he _bawled._ He felt like he was going to be sick as he held her close, only able to cry out _Emma_ and _I’m sorry_ as reality sunk in. He was fucking crazy. He killed Emma. _He killed Emma._

And then he was back in the break room of HF-101. Paul gasped.

_“...what?”_

Was he still dreaming? 

Then all the pain came rushing back to him, and he doubled over, crying out. Nope. He was awake. He _had_ to be awake. 

But...where was Emma? He knew all of that had just been a nightmare, but he needed to make sure she was okay. He needed the _confirmation_ that it had all been fake. But where was she? She was usually right there when he came in—

_“PAUL!”_

No. No no no _no no no no._ This was reality now. If she was screaming then that meant _she was actually hurt._

_“Emma?!_ Emma, where are you?!” He could just barely open his eyes, but he still couldn't find her. _He needed to find her._

“Paul I’m— _AUUGH!!!”_

With no other choice, Paul forced himself up onto his shaky legs. Oddly enough, he discovered it was much easier to stand (let alone _move_ ) than it had been before, but he assumed that was a result of the pure adrenaline rushing through him. Once up, he quickly found her curled into a ball on the floor, shaking and facing away from him. Paul’s heart stopped.

“Oh my god, oh my god, shit, Emma, w-what happened?!” Breathing raggedly, he took her in his arms, looking over her, taking in the damage. His heart dropped into his stomach — she had been _mutating._

It wasn't very far gone, not yet. Her eyes were glazed over in a green fog, her arms covered in green fur; her nails were dark, cracked, and ended in a point. _Just like his._ The image Wiggly had shown him of what she'd become was still so fresh that he knew _exactly_ what track this was on. 

“He-He said this was my-my punishment...f-for not giving in sooner and th-that I had to suffer the c-consequences...” Emma sobbed out. He tried to soothe her, brushing back her hair, matted to her skin with blood. “Paul it-it _h-h u r t s...”_

A loud _crack_ came from her arm. It twisted, and she let out a deafening cry of pain. Her vocal cords were wrecked from hours of screaming, voice barely audible the next time she spoke. “Paul, w-what’s happening? I-I'm sc-scared...”

Paul held her close, trying to mirror how she comforted him in this situation. He ran his fingers through her hair softly, kissing the top of her head. 

“I know, Emma, I-I know,” he said. “It's okay, it’s...m-maybe we can stop it?” 

Emma just sobbed, wrapping herself around him. She clung to the tattered remains of his sweater like her life depended on it. 

Paul’s heart was heavy. This couldn't be happening, not so _soon._ He'd thought they'd have more time, he'd thought he'd have more of a chance to stop it. He'd thought he could at least _try_ to protect her. His embrace tightened as Emma sobbed into his shoulder, trembling from the pain. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, threatening to become tears of his own. 

“I’m so sorry, Emma," he whispered, voice shaky. “Y-You don't deserve this, I—...if I could _do_ something...”

Strands of her dark hair came off in his hand. He felt sick. 

This was his fault. Emma was suffering by proxy of just being _near_ him. A stew of emotion boiled inside him — fear for Emma, anger at the _monster_ putting her through this (as well as at himself), and the hopeless despair that there was nothing he could do to save her. 

_Maybe there is~..._

The thought both belonged to him and didn’t. 

Desperation consumed Paul. 

“Okay...okay,” he muttered, muffled in Emma's hair. “Tell me what you want. Whatever it is, I'll do it, I swear, just stop hurting her. Please, I'll do _anything,_ anything you want, just...” His voice broke into a sob. He and Emma clung to each other. “Please don't hurt Emma…”

_Oh, Paulsy..._

Paul could feel the tendrils of Wiggly’s control wrapping themselves around his soul. With all of his willpower, he held on to consciousness, shaking with the effort as Emma seized in his arms. Tears mixed with blood streaked down his face. 

_Don’t cry, little Vessel~_

“ _Tell me what you want, you son of a bitch._ ” 

It cackled. Pain flared in Paul’s gut and he jerked, spurting out a mouthful of blood and green shit. His right eye felt like it was _burning_ , and he reluctantly squeezed both of them shut, trying to withstand the agony for Emma. Emma, who was becoming one of _them._ Emma, who was hurting. Emma, who was _hurting because of him._

_Paulsy~_

“I’m right here,” he growled, words garbled, “Just-Just tell me what you _want_...” 

There was a moment of silence. Paul cherished it, even though it was only ten seconds. 

_You’ve been a very bad buddy-wud, speaking with the general._

Paul felt his heart race. He’d been trying for weeks (it _had_ been weeks, right?) to get in contact with that man from that organization, the one started with a P. He couldn’t quite remember, but what he _could_ remember was that that man was trapped in the Black and White, and that he knew about the second vessel. In the black pit of despair that Paul’s life had become, that mysterious man had been his only hope. 

_Surely you wouldn’t talk to him behind my back again, would you~? Not when I have your little Emmy in my hands~_

Vision shrouded in darkness, he heard Emma’s sobs, feeling her grasp onto his arm. In that moment, he knew: nothing mattered but her safety. 

“Okay.” He nodded, thumb running along her knuckles. “ _Okay._ I-I won’t talk to him again, I-I won’t, j-just—” 

_Oh, Paulsy, silly goose — you won’t talk to A̗͛ͫ҉̢N̠͉̕Ÿ͍̖́O̗̬͆N̮̉̆E͌͛̂~!!!_

A full body shudder overtook him. _Anyone._ That meant he wouldn’t be allowed out to talk to Emma anymore. She wouldn’t hold him in his arms anymore. He wouldn’t be able to tell her how much he loved her. 

But she would be safe. 

“FINE!!!” he cried hoarsely. “D-Do what you want with me, just p- _please_ , let Emma go—!!!” 

Wiggly didn’t respond. Paul actually felt his presence _fading._ Those words having sealed his fate, Emma gasped, crawling out of Paul’s arms to catch her breath. Slitting his eyes open for a moment, he watched as the mutations started to fade, and though he was relieved, he knew he still wasn’t safe around her. 

“I’m sorry, Emma...” Paul tried to haul himself to his feet, but he was too _weak._ He settled instead for dragging himself across the floor, claws digging into the carpet. “I’m sorry I let you get hurt, I’m sorry, I’m so _fuckin s-sorry_...” 

_“Thanks for not doing this to me.”_

Paul stopped. Lifting his head, he forced his eyelids open with great strength. “What...?” 

He closed his eyes again. When he opened them, he wasn’t on the floor of the break room, but in its restroom. Standing before him was Emma, not having been hurt or mutated at all. He glanced up at her, confused, sitting on the toilet seat. 

_She’s okay now because of what you did. She’s okay now because you won’t ever talk to her again. She’s safe now. She’s safe._

Then the agony, emotional and physical, hit him full force.

* * *

Emma hadn’t expected to see Paul again after their last visit. So, when the door had suddenly opened and Paul had been thrown unceremoniously onto the floor, it was reasonable to say she’d nearly pissed herself from the shock. Her fear had quickly become relief when she became aware that Wiggly wasn’t possessing him (at least, not in that moment).

Then she realized he wasn’t moving.

“...Paul? Shit. Paul, can you hear me?” 

No response. His eyes were screwed shut and his body was shuddering, turning his head back and forth and muttering something under his breath. Emma cautiously took his head in her lap. The fact of the matter was Emma didn’t know if this was _really_ Paul. She needed him to look at her. 

“Paul, hey, if you can hear me, I _need_ you to look at me, okay?” Still no acknowledgement. It was as if he was completely unaware he was there. “Paul?” 

She pulled one of his eyes open to see if this was just Wiggly fucking with her or not. Except she couldn’t tell; his eyes, the whites of them and all, were _pure black._

_Shit!_ What the hell was she supposed to do?! Who _was_ this in control? Wiggly was a really bad fucking liar, and he had been unable to change the eye color before, so this had to be Paul, right? There was no way of knowing for sure, but Emma was fairly confident she could let her guard down and assume it was Paul. 

She put her hand to his face — he was burning up. With all the shit Wiggly had been putting him through, it would be no surprise if his body retaliated and ran a fever. 

“Shit, Paul, we gotta get you cooled down.” 

She left him for a moment to run her scarf (that she had been using as a rag) under some cold water and brought it back over to him. She held it to his head for a bit. When he turned his head again, she noticed the clean mark it had left on his forehead. God, he was filthy, all the blood and dirt and whatever the fuck else being on him for almost a month now. From the way he smelt, Wiggly _obviously_ never cleaned up... 

That gave her an idea.

“Hey, Paul, can you hear me now?” She gently held his face. The only response he gave this time was coughing up blood. She sighed and wiped at the blood on his chin with her scarf. “We’re gonna move now, okay? I’m gonna try to be as gentle as possible but if you can even sort of hear me and can help out, that’d be fucking great.” 

Emma grabbed him from underneath his shoulders and began dragging him towards the bathroom. It was easier than she had imagined, he was a fucking lightweight now (god how fucking thin was he?). She managed to pull him up to sit on top of the toilet seat and take off his sweater and undershirt. _Jesus Christ,_ how the fuck had he not starved to death yet? He was just skin and bones at this point. She took note of the green patches of fur on his face, how they trailed all the way down his torso and arms. 

But the worst of it all? _There was an oblong crater in his stomach._

What the _fuck_ was that supposed to be, or _going_ to be? She didn’t want to think about it. It was a good thing she had plenty of work to distract her. 

She wet her scarf and added some of the soap and got started on his face, his head tipped back on the wall. She thought she made some good work cleaning off most of the dirt and blood (except for the constant stream coming out of his eyes). When she had pulled up her rag to rinse again, she could see that it had turned it black. Dear god this was going to take a lot of fucking soap and water… 

The fur patches were giving Emma trouble, matted with blood and dirt and too tough to get out with just a rag. Thus, she’d grabbed her comb and started easing them out, until she could cleanly comb through without it getting caught. As she worked closely to his face, some movement caught her eye. Paul’s eyes had been screwed shut the entire time, but there was something... _moving_ under there, wriggling around under his skin. What the _fuck_ was that?!

“Nh...E...Emma...” 

Emma gasped — Paul had _spoken._

She took his hand, momentarily forgetting about the lost fingers. “Yeah, Paul? I’m here, It’s okay. I’ve got you.” 

She looked at him expectantly, thinking he was about to wake up. But he just went back to moaning again with no indication that he had even heard her. Sighing, she traced her thumb over his hand for a moment before getting back to work on the rest of his body. 

This went on for a while. Emma cleaning him up, Paul occasionally saying her name. As time went on, he grew more distressed, calling out for her more often. She always paused what she was doing to check in on him, but as he started becoming more frantic, she stopped her task altogether. 

“Paul? Can you hear me?” She held the cold rag to his forehead in an attempt to soothe his body but he was just crying out. Paul had gone from shuddering to seizing. Panicking, she held him in place, not knowing if he was waking up or if Wiggly was coming back. She hoped it wasn’t the latter. 

Finally, he gasped and opened his eyes — his _green_ eyes. _Thank god._

“Hey, Paul, you’re okay.” Emma knelt beside him. He was looking around everywhere, scared and confused. She redirected him to look at her. “You’ve been knocked out for a while and I’m just cleaning you up, yeah? Everything’s gonna be fine—” 

She was cut off by him collapsing against her, crying out and clinging on like she would disappear if he didn’t. He wasn’t saying anything; he wasn’t _able_ to say anything. “Paul? What happened? What did that fucking bastard do this time?”

His frail body trembling, he held onto her for dear life, burying his face in her sweater, his already shaky reply muffled. 

“I'm s-sorry, I’m so sorry Emma, I didn't w-want you to get h-hurt...” he sobbed. “I-I’m so s-sorry I hurt you..." 

Apologies tumbled from his lips endlessly, and though Emma held him close, she didn't know what he was talking about. 

“Shh, Paul it’s okay. Look at me.” He did, his eyes bright and bloodshot, and Emma saw that movement again — something under his skin. She bit back a grimace for his sake and drew her thumb over his cheek. “I'm right here, Paul. I'm okay. But you have to tell me what the hell happened.”

He sniffled, trying to catch his breath. They both flinched when a harsh hiccup escaped his throat, but Wiggly didn't come forth. It was just the two of them still. At least, it _looked_ like the two of them. 

Suddenly, eyes narrowed, Paul yanked his arms back and pinched himself hard on the neck. _“Agh!”_

“Paul!” Emma shouted, pulling him back to her. “What the fuck did you do that for?” 

“N-No, I...” Paul stammered. “I d-dunno what— i-if I’m even really _here...”_

He was too weak to pull away from her again; he acquiesced and let Emma hold him. He was so exhausted, his head was _pounding._ He felt he couldn't think straight.

“He’s gonna hurt Emma, _can’t let him hurt Emma...”_ His grip on her sweater tightened. “I _won’t_ let you hurt Emma...”

“Paul, breathe,” Emma said quietly. “I’m right here, okay? Whatever he made you see, it wasn’t real. I’m fine, I promise.”

She kissed his hair softly. That proved it: it really _was_ her. Paul managed to relax a little in her embrace, despite the painful pulsing behind his eye somehow growing _worse._

“Hurt you...m-made me think _I_ hurt you...” he muttered. “I'm sorry...” 

“Shh, don’t be. It’s okay, it wasn’t real.” Paul nodded; his breathing steadied. “It wasn’t real.”

_But it could be..._

Paul winced at the thought. He wasn’t sure if it was his or Wiggly’s. 

“Emma, listen,” he began, “I-I don’t know if Wiggly will let me see you anymore after this. He-He’s gonna hurt you if I don’t stay away and I can't...I can't risk that.”

Disbelief painted Emma’s features. “Paul, it’s okay, it wasn’t real—”

_“But it might not stay that way!”_

Emma could hear the desperation in his voice. Whatever Wiggly had shown him had him shook to his core. He was convinced this was the truth.

“Okay... _well...”_ She chose her words carefully. “If that _is_ true, then please just let me take care of you now. I think you’re actually sick, Paul.” 

Emma didn't think Wiggly’s games were over. She knew she’d still see Paul again. But Paul was so delirious from his fever that she had a feeling nothing was going to convince him otherwise. “Just relax, okay?”

His eyes, somewhat unfocused, met hers. 

“Okay...okay, I’ll try.” 

He sat back, letting Emma resume her work, leaning into her soothing touch. Glancing down at himself, he felt the color in his face (however little there was) drain. “Um. Has my shirt been off this whole time?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like I haven’t seen you before—”

“No, no, it’s just...I didn’t even _notice_ until now, and I haven't even seen what I look...” 

He faltered as eyes locked on the caving in the stomach. 

_“What is that?!”_

_Pop!_

Shock. Complete shock. Emma jerked back and yelped, shaking uncontrollably. Paul froze up and began touching his face as green and red substances leaked all over. He trembled. He moaned. He _screamed._

Paul’s right eye had _popped_ out of its socket.

“ _OH MY GOD!!!”_ Emma shrieked, afraid of even _touching_ him. “Oh my god, Paul, what do we do, _what the FUCK DO WE DO?!”_

Everything seemed to blur as they both panicked. The eye had been pushed out by what now revealed itself as a _tentacle_ behind it. It dangled from the optic nerve. Blood and slime gushed from the socket. 

Paul was completely unresponsive to Emma, focused only on the eye, now _hanging_ _down his fucking face._ His first instinct was to back away, but it was still attached to him. His second instinct was to grab it, but he couldn't just hold _his FUCKING eye in his hand_ so his hands awkwardly hovered around it. All the while he was hyperventilating, mixed with those awful hiccups, but Paul didn’t even care if Wiggly _was_ coming back. That meant he would pop it back in — _right?!_

Oh god, he could still see out of it. _He could still see out of his eye._

It was Emma who took the first step towards trying to do something.

“Paul! Hey, hey! Paul, listen to me okay, focus on me!” She reproached him, reaching out to him. He flinched as she put her hand on his shoulder, his shaking uncontrollable. “I-I’m gonna touch it, okay?”

Despite Paul being unable to form any words, he managed sounds of protest, tightly shaking his head, swinging the eye with it. He did _not_ want her to touch it.

“Paul, we need to fix it, we can’t just leave it there!”

“H-H-He’ll j-just fix it wh-when he comes b-back...!” Paul managed to choke out.

“We don't know that he's coming back soon, and besides he probably thinks this is fucking _hilarious_ to watch you deal with!” Emma grabbed his hands and very carefully rested her forehead against his. “Paul, you _have_ to let me try to get it back in...” 

His breathing steadied somewhat. Her tone made it clear she was going to do this with or without his consent, much preferably _with._

“O-Okay...”

Emma tried to steady her hand as she went to pull the socket furthur open. The offending tentacle grazed her thumb as she held it there. She initially jerked her hand back at its touch, but recomposed herself and went back in to hold it open. When she finally grabbed his eye — repressing the urge to gag because she was _touching his fucking eye_ — Paul winced on contact, trying to calm his trembling body. She was very careful to touch it as little as possible as she decided the best course of action: shove it back in quickly. 

_Pop!_

Paul cried out at the sudden movement, the sensation not quite painful, but still _strange._ Emma let out a sigh of relief. She was pretty much successful. Unfortunately, the tentacle was not fully pushed back in. It was still sticking out of the corner of his eye a bit, _wiggling_ around.

“I don’t wanna push the tentacle back in,” she admitted regretfully. “It might push your eye out again, but...how does that feel?”

Paul couldn’t speak. His frame shook violently. Every time he blinked it _stung_ and he could _feel_ the other tentacles underneath, pushing, wriggling. His vision was unfocused; when he tried to center on Emma through teary, bloodied eyes, he saw _two_ of her.

“I-It’s...it’s getting _dark_ ...” he whimpered, moving to rub at his right, bloodshot eye, but then his finger grazed the tentacle and he yanked his arm away in horror. “It-It’s all _spotty_ in that eye...fuck, Emma, I-I’m going _blind!!!”_

“Oh my god, _Paul_...”

Emma looked about ready to sob as she lowered herself to his level again, winding her arms around him in a warm embrace. Paul hadn’t any strength in him to reciprocate. Instead, he let his weight fall against her, and at some point the both of them were on the cold, tiled floor of the restroom. She stroked his hair, fingers combing through the fur patches on his body, and the pain felt _distant._ It was still agony to keep his eyes open, but he wanted to savor this moment. This would be the last time he’d see her as himself again. The last time she’d hold him like this. 

He wanted to be sick, he wanted to go home, he wanted everything to be _okay again._ He wanted his fucking fingers back, he wanted his hair back. Oh god. Oh _fuck_ . He was so fucking scared; he was trying so _hard_ for Emma. Nothing mattered but keeping her safe. He was trying to be brave. Paul Matthews, the nobody who worked a dead end job at CCRP, had to be the bravest fucking man in the _universe_ for Emma Perkins. 

“Em—” 

He jerked suddenly, turned his head to the side, and heaved, green slime and blood pouring from his mouth onto the floor. He collapsed back into her lap, shaking like a leaf.

“Sorry,” he said with a shudder, “j-just... _hold me,_ please...hold me until he comes _back,_ he-he won’t ever hurt you _again_ , just...stay with me...”

Emma gulped. She stood up and began tugging on his arm. “Can you stand?”

“...no. W-Why? Emma, where are we going...?”

“Dude, you just puked up a bunch of slime on the floor we’re sitting on right after I spent all that time cleaning you up. We’re going to the other room, come on.”

Paul couldn’t get up or stand on his own, but if Emma supported him enough then he’d at least be able to hold some of his own weight. She slung his arm over her shoulders, but even with the height difference before, he still had to hunch over for it to work.

“Paul, are you getting taller?”

“All things considered,” he groaned, “I actually haven’t measured myself lately...”

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

They very awkwardly made their way back into the break room, Paul stumbling along, leaning against Emma for support. Carefully, she set Paul down with his back against the wall.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” She got up and left only for a moment, returning with his shirt, her soaking wet scarf, and a trash can. “In case you need to puke again.”

“Thanks...” Paul rested his head against the wall as Emma held the cold rag against it again. He closed his eyes, melting at her touch, at the relief it gave to his throbbing head. He could feel the water dripping down to his chest. “Hey...um, can I have my shirt back now?”

Emma’s face flushed. “Oh, shit, yeah here let me help you.”

It wasn’t like Paul had a choice in letting her help anyways, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have been able to get the buttons with two fingers on both hands missing and the remaining three being clawed. 

(Fuck. He was missing _four_ fingers.)

Emma helped guide his arms through the sleeves. Her eyes followed up his chest as she did each button of his undershirt, ending up looking right at his face as he watched her. He may have looked different, but it was still _Paul_. Even if his eyes were a different color, it was still his adoring look he gave her. Even if his teeth had sharpened, he still gave her that same smile. She was so close she could just...

And then she went for it, forgetting everything that had happened or how gross they both were, Emma didn’t care. She cupped his cheek, feeling the fur patches she had just cleaned. No matter all the shit they had gone through, he was still so _soft_.

Paul was surprised at this for a second, but quickly followed her lead, wanting this, wanting _her_ more than anything else right now. He couldn't tell her how much he loved her, but she had to know.

It didn’t go too far. They were both too tired to carry it on for any longer. When they broke, Emma sat next to him back to the wall, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his.

“I know you’re scared of losing me, Paul. But I'm scared of losing you too.” Her eyes welled with tears again. She blinked them away. “And-And I don't know what Wiggly is telling you or showing you, but I don’t want you to leave...I know you’re just doing what you think has to be done, and I don't blame you for _anything..._ but I love you, Paul...and I need you to know that.”

“I do.” Paul nuzzled his cheek gently against Emma's head, bringing his hand to rest over hers. Red tears cascaded faster down his cheeks. “I don’t want to leave either, I _never_ want to leave you...I’m just so scared, and I can’t...I can't do _anything.”_

Emma nestled closer, burrowing her head in the crook of his neck. She drew her thumb over his hand in wordless reassurance, and Paul felt a little more at ease. They melted together, as close as possible despite the unsettled nerves in Paul’s stomach. Even if he had the energy, he didn't want to move away from her.

Paul broke the silence: “I don’t know when he’ll come back.”

“Doesn't matter right now,” Emma mumbled.

Her voice was low and tired, her eyes heavy. By some miracle — though in reality, it was probably just the exhaustion — she was relaxing. Despite the lingering sting behind Paul’s eye, his vision fogged and blurred, he found himself following her. He soaked up her presence, her weight against him, her arms snug around his, her small hand under his. Even with her pressed against him, a shiver still went through him.

“...can you um...can you help put my sweater back on? It’s k-kinda cold...”

Emma nodded and squeezed his hand before getting up to get it. She helped guide his arms through the sleeves again, leaning him forward just a bit from the wall to pull it back down. God, this thing was gross, but at least his skin was clean now and he wasn’t freezing.

As if reading his mind, Emma spoke up. “We are _not_ putting that fucking scarf back on you, I’ll have you freeze to death first because it's absolutely disgusting.”

“ _Fuck_ , yeah, I’m never wearing scarves again if we get out of here...” 

Paul had meant that to be a light joke but the reality of that began to sink in. **_If_ ** they got out of there...

Emma sat back down next to him in her same position as before. She knew that what Paul had said was just supposed to be banter, but it didn’t sit right. She leaned up against him again and they remained that way for a while, Emma mumbling increasingly softer reassurances.

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll find a way. We’ll make it okay.”

Paul doubted it. Still, he admired Emma’s resilience. She was incredible. She was the most amazing person Paul had ever met. He was so fucking lucky to know her, to be with her in any capacity. He would protect her with his life if it came down to it, and if his greatest fears came true, it would. 

He was prepared for that.

For now, though, they were together. And for some reason, Wiggly was letting them be. Paul let his eyes fall mercifully closed as he felt Emma's breathing deepen beside him, snoring softly on his shoulder. Very soon he fell asleep as well, embracing the moment of peace.

He would instantly regret it when he woke up again.

* * *

Clawed fingers swept over Emma's hair, just light enough that she wouldn't wake. Paul's body shifted beside her, but it wasn't Paul anymore.

“Sweet dreams, Em-my~...”

He curled a lock of Emma's hair around his finger and she shifted away, mumbling in discomfort like she could sense it wasn’t Paul, even in sleep. Her head hung sideways, craning limply off her neck. Humming brightly to himself, he slid his arms under her, lifting her off the floor and carrying her to the table where he laid her back down. Her unconscious distress quieted with a _shhhh._

“Hush, hush~” He frowned in disapproval. “You’ll sleep much better in Drowsytown, Em-my. Dreams there are the sweetest of all~!”

Emma rolled over onto her side, facing away from him. Wiggly pet her arm.

“Almost there~”

He turned and headed for the door, his smug sing-song all that filled the room before he left. Grabbing Paul’s discarded scarf on his way out and slinging it around his neck, he wiggled Paul's remaining fingers in a little wave, as if Emma was watching.

“Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the Sniggles bite~!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp. what a bumpy ride HUH


	13. it's all i need and all i came for.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which the prophet makes a decision and a new friend arrives. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyye welcome back!!!!! we took a little bit of a hiatus with things starting back up in our lives but we are EXCITED to return! thanks for waiting around and hope you enjoy!

**[12/21/2018 | 4:34 PM ]**

_ Alice wasn’t home. Oh good God. Alice wasn’t home. _

_ Bill knew he never should have left the safety of their house. He’d been certain that this “apocalypse” was just an overreaction and that it would be over in a week. Three weeks had passed since then, of course, and their supplies had started to run low. He told her that they would learn to survive. That they didn’t have to go out into a world that crawled with those  _ things _. Maybe they could have contacted someone, Angela, Charlotte, or heck even Ted...  _ anyone _ from the outside, given them directions to their place. He’d had no luck. The phone lines seemed to have gone down in Hatchetfield since Black Friday, and he couldn’t contact anyone. Alice sobbed when she realized she may never see Deb again. _

_ Hearing what Paul had become through the broadcasts made Bill start to believe he wouldn’t see any of his loved ones again either. _

_ The room tilted. The loaf of bread and gallon of water that he’d managed to steal from the abandoned grocery store were long forgotten, dropped somewhere in the kitchen. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he’d searched his entire house and couldn’t find Alice. His daughter was gone. His daughter. His own flesh and blood, his only family he still had left. It was all his fault and now he was alone. _

_ There was a slip of paper left on the sofa, a neon pink sticky note. _

_ His foggy mind cleared for a moment, and despite his shallow breaths and trembling hands, managed to pull himself together, focusing hard enough to pick it up and read it: _

Dad,

Left to find Deb. I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I wish I’d told you more often.

— Alice

_ Bill lost all ability to breathe then. His vision darkened and he fell on his hands and knees, wailing, pounding his fists on the floor. It was his fault. His. Fault. He left her out of his sight for one second and look what happened. How could he have let her go? How? _

_ Sobs wracked his frame. The radio in the kitchen blared. _

Open your heart, beloved followers. Let Wiggly in. He’s all you ever needed, all you ever wanted. He’s all you need to fill that hole in your life...

* * *

Linda hadn't been involved in a planning meeting for weeks now. She didn't know anything except that she was expected to just play along and that when the time came that she'd know what to do. But how could she know what to do if Wiggly and Wiley never fucking told her anything?! Even if she's not in charge, then status alone should get her in there, but no, it apparently does not.

She had been sitting outside, waiting for them, but as time went on she became even more impatient.

"Oh, this is _ ridiculous.  _ I'm going in there!" Linda stormed up to the door that was being guarded by Gary and that man in a trench coat that Linda never bothered to learn the name of. They didn't move as she came up. "Get out of the way!"

"Sorry Miss Monroe, Wiggly said no interruptions." Gary stopped her. Linda let out an irritated sigh upon being reminded how overly faithful he was to Wiggly now. A handful of followers had gone the extra mile to connect with Wiggly and  _ volunteered _ to become those sniggle things Wiggly had had in the Black and White. But to Linda they were just a nuisance.

"Are you even paying attention Gary? I'm The  _ Prophet _ . I can obviously go in!" She tried to push past the two but was unsuccessful.

"Wiggly said no." The trench coat man (sniggle) said to her.

"I can't believe this! I was here first! You both  _ adored  _ me, remember? And now you think  _ you _ can tell  _ me _ what I can and can't do?!" Linda threw up her arms in exasperation. "I'm in charge of you, remember that! You think Wiggly will be happy to hear you are disobeying a direct order? Let me in and He won't have to hear about this."

The two sniggles looked at each other, as if actually debating letting her in. They were scared of both Linda and Wiggly, but in the end they feared disobeying Wiggly more.

"Sorry Miss Monroe…" Gary looked at her sympathetically as Linda groaned and stormed back to her chair outside the door. She rubbed her temples, using it as a cover to hide her face.

"What's happening Gary? Everything was supposed to be perfect, but now I can't even get into a fucking meeting."

"W-well, we're not allowed in, either." Gary said, wringing his hands, his heel tapping frantically.

"I'm not like  _ you! _ " Linda shouted, making him jump back. " _ You _ are fucking pathetic little subservients. For christ's sake, look at yourself, Gary!"

Hazy eyes glancing down, Gary rubbed at his elongated, green-fuzz-covered arm. His hand fidgeted at his side, sharp nails rubbing together. His neck twitched, crooking his head to the side. He shifted on his feet. His heel still tapped.

He looked back at Linda. "You're not supposed to s-say that now, Miss Monroe."

"Whatever." Linda grumbled, slumping back in her chair with crossed arms. "I'm the fucking Prophet.  _ I _ gave Wiggly life! He wouldn't even _ be _ here if it wasn't for me, and now Him and Wiley want to just toss me aside." She flung her arms around emphatically. "Not on my watch."

Gary glanced back at his sniggle companion, still by the door, who shrugged.

"Miss Monroe, I don't think-"

Linda yanked her box cutter out of the inner pocket of her cloak. "If either of you mention this to anyone, I will cut your fucking throats out."

Letting out a frightened whimper, Gary stumbled back to the door. Linda tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, pensive.

“God, I don’t even know why I’m wasting my time here. Let me know when they’re done.” She dismissed herself, making it look like she was walking away with purpose when she really had no plans other than to aimlessly wander the halls.

Christmas was coming, she  _ knew _ that meant something. She knew Wiggly had plans, but they were so secure, so careful, so smart as to not let anything slip up, that not even she knew what was coming. That was probably what they were discussing. But then did that mean they didn’t trust her? And what reason would they have not to? She’s done  _ everything _ right for them.

Gerald wouldn’t treat her this way. He worshipped the ground she walked on, but then again, so did Gary, and now he’s like… _ that _ .

She still hadn’t heard anything from him. She had told the followers that if any of them found him to notify her immediately. And that wasn’t even an order kept under wraps, even Wiley had approved her to give it to them. But of course there were “bigger fish to fry” than Gerald. There always would be.

Just then, one of the followers ran up to her. “Miss Monroe, there’s something you need to see.”

“Oh, finally!”

“It-it’s important but Wiggly and Wiley asked to not be interrupted and-”

Oh.  _ Of course. _

“Just take me there!” She snapped at him. The man stiffened up and nodded as she raised her voice and started leading her down the hall.

“I don’t exactly know if he’s a prisoner or not, he seems pretty compliant but he is an outsider.” He explained and opened the door. Sitting there was a black man, looking all scuffed up by the elements. He wore very basic, mostly beige clothing, and a newsboy cap. He looked up at her, waiting for her to say something. She enjoyed this, savoring it.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man trembled before the prophet, staring down at his feet. His face was wet with tears, something Miss Monroe had taken notice of immediately, and per usual, didn’t give a shit about it. What she  _ did _ care about was how feeble and puny he was. Weak-willed. A nervous wreck. Yes, he had potential, but she still had her suspicions as to his intentions.

A beat of long silence passed after Linda had spoken up. The stranger’s bottom lip quivered. His hands gripped his pants nervously, bunching the fabric up. Miss Monroe sighed, and before giving the order to execute him, he spoke up, his voice strained, almost inaudible.

“Bill Woodward,” he spoke, not yet facing the blonde, nor the sniggles that hovered at his side. “I-I...I didn’t know where to go. I heard... _ Him _ on the radio and...”

A sound akin to choking escaped him. Suddenly, he began to sob, collapsing to his knees, his face buried in his hands. Those who stood at his side jerked back in shock, as did Linda, staring down in him with an expression that clearly read pure annoyance as opposed to any sort of empathy. Still, she supposed she’d hear him out. That was, if he had anything else to say. She considered her box cutter, tucked away in her coat (a stylish fur, thank you very much).

“She’s  _ g-gone! _ ” he whimpered, clutching at his chest, mouth open in a silent cry. “My d-daughter...she’s a-all I  _ had _ left...she’s all I had and...and I don’t have anyone...I don’t have anything left, she w-was my whole  _ world _ , and now...”

The man — Ben, did he say? — lifted his head, locking his gaze with Linda’s. A glimmer of green could be detected in his irises. 

“Now all I have...is-is  _ Him... _ ”

Striding over to the stranger, Linda grabbed his chin, forcing his head up further, his eyes to bore into her own.

“Say His name,” she demanded, glaring daggers into him, “and you shall be set free.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Wiggly.”

A grin formed on her face and she let go of him, standing upright. Power rushed through her veins like a powerful drug, and she relished in the high. It had been too long. Too fucking long.

“Get him up,” she ordered, turning on her heel to the building’s entrance. “It looks like we have a  _ new _ follower. Come now, I’m sure He would like to see you.”

She walked through the halls with more purpose than she had in weeks. She hated to admit it, but this was huge for her. She didn’t know exactly where to take him right now, if Wiggly and Wiley weren’t done by the time she got there then she’d just throw him in a room and look busy until they were done. This was her chance to show her worth. She was technically in charge of recruits and non-sniggle followers, but this was the first new one for quite a while.

Lucky for her, she did see them walking out.

“Ah, finally! If you two are done scheming around about whatever in there, I have something important to show you. There is someone who would like to meet you.”

Walking out the door behind Wiley, Wiggly clapped his clawed hands. 

"Oh, goodie! A new friendy-wend!~"

While he giggled, Wiley stepped aside to let him through. Wiley and Linda watched in delight as Bill's face instantly fell to horror.

" _ Paul? _ "

Bill's stance faltered upon realizing that this was someone else he had now lost. Yes, he had heard about  _ something _ happening to him, but  _ seeing _ it? He stumbled, and the guard behind him tightened their grip like he was about to run. Linda grabbed his face and forced him to look at the horribly mutated form of his best friend. Wiggly stretched Paul's face into a sick grin, blood and green slime dripping from his lips, flashing his dagger teeth at the man in front of him.

"Oh, you know my lit-tle vessel, do you?~" Wiggly strode closer. He could hear Paul screaming in the back of his head pathetically, as if Bill could hear. This was someone important to him. Wiggly giggled. "Well, Paulsy can't talk right now, but he's very happy to see you!~"

The sound of Paul shrieking was music to Wiggly's ears. The vessel was more distraught than he'd ever been, pleading for Bill to be let go, and Wiggly was positively  _ giddy _ . This was going to be  _ fun _ . He bounced on the balls of his feet, watching Bill drop to his knees, shoulders shaking. Wiggly towered over him. “It sounds like you two were just the  _ bestest _ of buddy-wuds! Maybe we can be too!~”

"Oh  _ god _ ... Paul..." he muttered, hands over his mouth.

"Hehehe- _ hic! _ " Wiggly placed a hand on Bill's shoulder with a pat, and the man winced at his rotted, missing fingers. " _ Silly _ Billy. I'm the only god here.~"

With a sniff, Bill gave a small nod. Wiggly patted his shoulder again and bent down, taking his arms to pull him back to his feet. Though his gaze was downturned, the green haze in his eyes was evident.

"There we go!~ Doesn't that feel better?~" Without giving Bill a chance to respond, Wiggly started walking them down the hall. "Come with me, let's get you nice and comfy in Drowsytown.~"

Baffled, Linda stepped forward. "Excuse me, _ I _ thought I was in charge of-!"

Wiley grabbed her arm and yanked her back. "Watch your  _ mouth, _ darlin'." He growled. "This is His business."

Linda wrenched herself free with a furious huff. "I am the  _ Prophet! _ I should be respected, and I should be allowed to do my fucking job!"

Shooting an insultingly apologetic glance Wiggly's way, Wiley's grip on Linda's arm was tighter this time. He dragged her out of the room and into one of the empty booths, shutting the door behind them.

"You'd be smart to hold your goddamn temper around our _ God _ , Miss Monroe."

“Oh, come on! I should be allowed to do the  _ one _ job I have left and give him orientation! You know, if you were just going to discard me after the portal opened, a heads up might have been appreciated.”

“Oh I’m sorry, did I read the situation wrong?” Wiley asked sarcastically with that condescending tone of his voice. “Did you bring him directly to Wiggly so that he  _ wouldn’t _ take him?”

“I brought him over to show you that I’m capable of getting new recruits!”

“So you just wanted to show off, that’s it huh?” Linda was silent for a moment. At its core, yes, she supposed that’s what she had been trying to do, but she couldn’t admit that. Wiley was waiting for an answer she couldn’t give. “Listen here Miss Monroe-”

“No  _ you _ listen!” She cut in. “If I’m going to be a part of leadership then I need to know what’s happening! And, even after all I’ve done for you and Wiggly, you still don’t trust me to let me know, then I should at least be able to do  _ what you told me to do! _ And if I can’t even do that, then let me know so that I can leave to find my husband and kids.”

Linda scowled indignantly up at Wiley, rage burning even harder inside her as the man had the audacity to _ chuckle _ . The son of a bitch was laughing at her.

"Your  _ husband _ ? Oh, that's  _ rich _ , Miss Monroe. Don't tell me you forgot our little chat at the start of all this. You really think you could get anything more from your pathetic family than you're gettin' from this now?" He scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, before quickly turning serious again. "Besides, this ain't an opt-out kinda deal, darlin'. Once you're in, you're  _ in. _ No goin' back."

"Sure." Linda rolled her eyes, but she knew he was right. She didn't even know where Gerald and the boys were. Even if she managed to get out, where could she go? Surely not those pathetic little rebellion groups...

Wiley reached out and curled a lock of her hair around his fingers, that insufferable chuckle returned.

"Don't think you aren't precious to us, Miss Monroe. You carried out your duty flawlessly, and I know He'll always be grateful. But now your job is to spread His will, and  _ stay in line. _ Long as you do that, we shouldn't have any more problems." Releasing her hair, Wiley tilted Linda's chin up towards him. "D'you think you can manage that, sweetheart?"

Linda jerked away from his touch. "I expect to be treated with more respect."

Wiley smirked. "Sure thing. Just behave yourself now."

As he left the room with an infuriating saunter in his step, Linda's teeth clenched. The door closed behind him and she was left in the booth with nothing but her anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have a discord now!! feel free to message us on tumblr for an invite @wigglypaulau_official


	14. the highest of holidays comes but once a year.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which a bond is mended, another broken, and the clock strikes midnight. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there! welcome back! just a heads up for alcohol in this chapter, they be drinking.

**[12/24/18 | 11:43 PM]**

Normally on Christmas Eve night, Lex would be with Hannah, sledding, ice skating, maybe with their mother if she had actually felt like parenting that year. Normally they would also be with Ethan. Lex would have saved up enough to get Hannah something she’d like, like a really soft blanket or a handful of fidget toys. It would be nice.

Except here she was. Drinking alone. In Ethan's crazy uncle's basement. During the apocalypse. On Christmas Eve.

Hannah had gone to bed a while ago. Lex didn't know where Ethan was, maybe with his uncle, it would make the most sense. Except that it actually didn't make sense because Ethan didn't even talk to him that much before they all came here. Whatever. Ethan hadn't been talking to her as much as he used to so it was the excuse Lex came up with so she wouldn't think about it anymore.

Everything had been tense since the fight,  _ especially _ between Tom and Lex. They hadn't really said anything to each other since. Which sucked because it meant Lex was isolated from basically everyone here. She didn't know Becky, Tim, or Hidgens. And Ethan and Hannah were weirdly quiet around her. It would just be nice to talk to one fucking person.

She heard someone coming down the stairs, probably Hidgens telling her to get out of his booze. She took another swig before she could be caught.

It ended up being Tom's trudging footsteps that reached the bottom of the stairs. He bristled a little when he saw Lex, before sighing and scratching at the scruff of his chin. He could  _ feel _ the tension thickening in the air. Bitterness emanating from her. It was almost enough to make him want to turn around and climb right back up the stairs again. But something kept him in place.

"Thought I heard someone down here," he said. "Hey, Lex." 

She cast him a cold glance before drinking again. "Hey, Mr. Houston."

Tom stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He wasn't sure who he'd been expecting to find down here, but it hadn't been Lex. Her eyes were dark, her hair messy, her posture hunched and closed off. Tom had seen her sulking around school before, but never quite like this. Never actively drinking. She looked exhausted, dejected, and angry. Much more so than usual.

In his silence, she glared up at him.

"What, gonna lecture me again? Get on my case about the booze?" She snapped. "Fucking get it over with."

Tom opened his mouth and shut it again. Really all he'd wanted was to slip down here and grab a drink for himself. Becky was with Tim, and he'd just wanted to try and unwind a little while he had the chance. He hadn't been banking on finding one of his former students already a bottle and a half deep. Not that he could blame her. This situation could drive anyone to drink.

"I guess I could, if you really want me to," Tom said with a halfhearted shrug. "But I doubt it'd be real constructive. 'Oh, Lex, you're better than this,' pretty rich coming from someone who came down here to do the same thing."

Lex threw her head back and laughed harshly. "Cheers to that."

She picked up an unopened bottle from beside her and held it out in invitation. Tom accepted, taking a seat beside her. He popped the cap off with his thumb and clinked his bottle against Lex's.

"To being a role model," he said.

Lex laughed again. They drank.

They sat there for a minute in silence. Not knowing what to say to each other. It's not like they had  _ nothing _ to say but neither wanted to start a fight by saying the wrong thing. So they were quiet.

That was until Lex couldn't take it anymore.

"What do you think everyone else is doing tonight?" Lex asked.

"Well Becky and Tim-"

"No no, not everyone  _ here _ . I mean like, everyone in the  _ world _ ... What's gonna happen tonight? If the fucking grinch who stole Christmas thinks he's a god or whatever then something is definitely coming, right? Are people still like... gonna go to church or some shit? I can't really imagine doing anything else besides getting drunk off my ass."

"Is that why you're down here, Lex?" Tom looked at her for a second, concern painted his features. It was almost like all tension between them was gone and she was back in his classroom, seeking out help from an adult she could trust that she didn’t have in her life.

But that wasn't where they were.

"I think we both know why I'm down here." She said, raising the bottle to her lips and not wanting to dig deeper into her own situation. "So what brings you here Mr. Family Man?"

Tom slumped back against the wall, letting his bottle swing in loose circles. He wasn't sure if he should say anything. He wasn't sure if it would be  _ fair _ not to. He sighed. It wasn't like it mattered.

"On top of... everything else... it's our second Christmas without Jane. Last year was borderline impossible to get through, and I doubt it'll ever  _ stop _ being hard, but... I wanted to try and make it better this year. I wanted to give Tim as good of a Christmas as I could, and now I can't give him  _ anything _ ." 

Tom took another drink. He stared down at his free hand, holding it in a loose fist and drawing his thumb over his knuckles. His heart felt heavier the longer he spoke, and he could feel Lex looking at him. He hoped not with contempt.

"It was eight days ago last year," he continued quietly. "We still haven't talked about it. I know he's still angry with me. He's not the only one, but he's my  _ son _ , and I can't... I can't face him with nothing. He deserves better."

“Well… I'm sure he understands why you don’t have anything to give him, right? Like, he's old enough to understand what's going on, and he's not stupid or entitled or anything. He's a good kid, he gets that." Lex liked Tim. She was telling the truth. He _ is  _ a good kid. But she knew how he felt, he had let everyone know that at their last meeting. And he was right to be pissed off. "But yeah the uh, not talking about your wife thing? That's on you."

" _ Lex _ -"

"Not that I can say I'm better though." She quickly added, throwing up her hands in defense. "Fuck, I haven't even thought to talk to Hannah about where our mom might be. Bitch probably dove head first into the craziness."

The truth was Lex hadn't thought of her mother at  _ all  _ since Black Friday. She meant so little to her now, how shitty was that? An apocalypse happened and she didn't think of her mother for over a month. Lex and Hannah had already been so prepared to live without her.

"Not that it really matters where she is anyways. We should have been in California by now…" She trailed off as she tapped her fingers on the bottle.

"Lex, was that really something you were going to follow through on?" Tom asked.

Lex looked taken aback, she raised a brow. "Yeah, of course."

"No, I just mean... I know you're tenacious, Lex, I know when you really care and you really put your mind to it, you  _ do _ have a great work ethic. I've seen it." He meant it, but that didn’t stop him from thinking of what the results of her grand scheme could have been. "I don't doubt for a second that you could've gotten to California, but... what were you going to do after?"

"Be an actress," Lex's voice was quiet.

"Lex." Tom raised a brow as he brought his bottle to his lips, giving her a prompting look she was all too familiar with.

"Jesus Christ, dude, I thought when you came down here we could  _ maybe _ drink in silence and have a nice quiet moment, but no! You just  _ had _ to fucking kick me while I was down!" Lex's words were slurring. She stood up and wobbled a bit, off balance from how much she had drank so far. She didn't care though, she was pissed. She finally opened up a huge vulnerability and it bit her in the ass right away.

"Lex-" Tom stood up to try and help her, Lex pushed him away.

"No, don't ' _ Lex' _ me!” She copied him in a mocking tone. “You really had the balls to come down here and judge me for wanting something that's never even gonna fucking happen now! So what if it didn't work out? It doesn't fucking matter anymore!" Lex felt a hot prick in her eyes but kept it in, she wouldn't give Tom the satisfaction.

Tom watched her blink the tears back. He reached out again and she clumsily shoved his hand away, barely catching herself from toppling over. 

"Lex, sit back down, you're drunk." Tom tried. She didn't look at him. "I'm sorry, alright? I know how much it can hurt when things don't go how you want, I shouldn't have... I wasn't judging you."

"Sure." Lex huffed. Her hair fell over her eyes.

She took another wobbly step towards the stairs. Tom stumbled forward.

"I mean it, I'm sorry." 

The moment was held in limbo. Lex's tense, guarded stance softened a little, but she seemed stuck between storming away - or stumbling, more accurately - and staying.

The truth was that Lex didn’t actually  _ want  _ to leave. She didn’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve. Not like the holiday really meant anything to her anyways, just the thought of drinking alone seemed sad, and drinking with a sad old man somehow seemed… less sad.

“Whatever.” She mumbled, moving back to where she had been sitting earlier. “I was down here first anyways.” 

Tom stood there, not knowing if he should maybe take her hint and go back upstairs or if he should keep an eye on her.

“Hey, do you got the time?” Lex asked, trying to sweep their dispute under the rug.

“Uh, yeah.” Tom looked at his watch. “It’s 11:56.”

“4 more minutes. Merry fucking Christmas…” Lex scoffed and raised her bottle.

Tom chuckled bitterly. "And a happy new year."

They clinked their bottles together and drank. Tom slid a little ways down the wall. What a holiday. 

He and Jane should have finished putting Tim to bed about now. Jane would have tucked him in. Tom would have recited  _ Twas the Night Before Christmas _ , like he did every year. They would have kissed their boy goodnight, gone to lay his gifts out under the tree, and finished off the rest of the hot cocoa before going to bed themselves. It would have been quiet. It would have been peaceful.

This was anything but.

11:57 now - three minutes left. As he and Lex continued to drink in understanding silence, Tom couldn't help but wonder what the others in the bunker were up to right now.

As the footsteps from upstairs drew closer, Lex groaned, not wanting to be caught by Hidgens, she was too drunk and tired to deal with him. But to her surprise it was not Hidgens coming down the steps, it was Ethan. 

“Hey, what’s shakin’?” Ethan asked, approaching Lex and Tom with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pajama bottoms.

“I don’t know, why don’t you go ask Hannah?” Lex knew that was a dumb thing to say, but to her defense it was damn near midnight and she was definitely a little fucked up.

“What?” Ethan knitted his brow in confusion.

“Don’t play dumb with me, you know what I’m talking about.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“I am dumb and I  _ don’t _ know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, so you haven’t noticed that my sister has completely shut me out and that you two sneakily giggle out of fucking nowhere while I’m left in the dark.”

“Lex-”

“And it’s like… I’m not mad that you two are finally bonding. It took both of you a while to get there and it’s nice to see but… it’s the motherfucking  _ apocalypse _ and I can’t even talk to either of you! Instead I’m drinking down here on Christmas with my old grouchity teacher. No offense.” She elbowed Tom who waved his hand as if to say none taken.

“Lex, are you… jealous?” Lex shrugged at him. Ethan couldn’t really believe what he was hearing. He knew Lex wasn’t really thinking through what she was saying right now but it still hurt to hear. The implication that dying and now living in between reality and a void as a result was actually a secret gift. “Because I fucking  _ died _ and you’re the one who's mad at me?! For something I can’t fucking control!”

“I said I wasn’t mad! And I never said it was because of that!”

“Yeah but you’re sure as hell acting like it! Maybe  _ I’m _ not the one who has withdrawn, Lex. Maybe if you actually put in some effort to understand what Hannah and I are going through-”

“What’s Hannah going through?” Lex immediately cut him off. Ethan was silent. “Ethan you better tell me what the hell is going on.”

“It’s not my place to say.” He said quietly, not making eye contact.

  
  


“Oh yes it fucking is, what’s wrong with Hannah?” Lex pressed on.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“ _ I _ wouldn’t understand?! What the  _ fuck _ ?! Maybe I don’t understand because neither of you will tell me a goddamn thing!” It hurt so much because the truth was Lex would understand. She  _ did _ understand. She has abilities herself, she also has that connection to Hannah, she just can’t control it yet and doesn’t have that insight that Ethan gained on so quickly. She sure as hell didn’t blame Hannah, and she didn’t think she blamed Ethan either. It was just…  _ frustrating _ . “We’re probably gonna be trapped in this bunker for the rest of our lives, so why don’t we cut the shit and start 'understanding' each other.”

“Lex, you’re drunk. If I told you, you probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.” Ethan sighed, searching for an excuse out of the conversation.

That cut Lex deep. She knew Ethan didn’t mean it like that, but it just reminded her of her mother.

“So that’s your excuse, huh? You’re counting on me being too much of a trainwreck to even remember this happening? God, just fuck off.”

Ethan winced. "That's not what I said, it's just-"

"It's  _ exactly _ what you said, asshole!"

"It's just too much to get into right now!"

"So leave then! Go fucking hang out with  _ my _ sister!"

Lex slumped down against the wall. Beside her, Tom gave a tired look that told Ethan to drop it. Ethan sighed.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow." He said, turning towards the stairs.

"Whatever." Lex huffed. 

Ethan headed up the stairs. Tom glanced at his watch, right as 11:59 ticked to 12:00. Midnight.

Upstairs, the radio suddenly crackled to life, the canned sound of laughter booming over the speaker system. Hidgens flinched before quickly regaining his composure to listen. 

  
" _ Hehehe-HIC! Hehehe-HIC!  _ **_H̴e̴h̸e̵h̷e̴-̴H̶I̶C̸!̴~̷”_ ** Wiggly's laugh echoed down the halls, now catching the attention of everyone left awake. _ "A very merry Christmas to all my friendy-wends!~ And a  _ **_v̴̒͗ͅë̸̘ṙ̶͖̜y̶̛̲_ ** _ happy birthday to  _ **_m̸̨͈̳̞̅͒̈́ẹ̴͐̈́̄͜!̶͇̪̪̭̊̂̋_ ** _ ~ I have a special celebration planned  _ **_Ȁ̶̠̘̯͘A̵͕Ȧ̷̪̣̣͇̍̌͠Â̶͖̍̚ͅL̴̯̀̐̃L̸͉̩̬͐̆́̈́L̶̹͘ ̵̟̽̍̊D̸̼͍̜͕̐̈́A̶̼̘̾Ą̵̩͕̈́̍̈Á̸̘̗̠̮͊̈Ȧ̷̧̛̖͕̤͐̀Y̷̡̦̲͌̂̃̐ͅ_ ** _ , so stay tuned...~ _ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ope, i wonder what that means!


	15. america is great again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which a birthday is celebrated and a message is received. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE BACK HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!
> 
> Sorry for the super long wait, things have been crazy and we wanted to make sure this chapter was perfect and not rushed, because it's Wiggly's birthday and uhhhh some stuff happens.
> 
> You may have noticed we updated the tags to include minor character death, so be aware of that for this chapter, the manner in which it happens is also extremely graphic.
> 
> Very very light spoilers for Nightmare Time ep. 3. it's literally just the name of a character being mentioned though and no actual plot spoilers.

**[ 12/25/2018 | 7:55 PM ]**

On Christmas day, President Howard Goodman was escorted to the small island of Hatchetfield, Michigan, to give an address to the American people directly from the source of the madness. He watched out the tinted window as he was driven down the street; Hatchetfield was a wreck. It looked like an odd purgatory between a ghost town and a raid site. Howard felt cold despite the heated car. He averted his gaze.

Secret service guarded him as he climbed the steps of the city hall, preceded by the broadcasters who'd found a way to patch him through in spite of Wiggly's seemingly constant control of every channel. It was honestly surprising how easy it had been. Howard cast an uneasy glance around, a few hazy green-eyed people scattered on the street, watching him. He walked quicker, feeling unsafe. 

When he reached the podium inside, the press secretary was waiting for him, the cameraman setting up nearby. 

"Secretary Anderson," Howard said, wringing his sweaty hands.

The secretary nodded back. The air was thick. Maybe coming here was a bad idea. But it was the only idea left. They had to lure Wiggly out, and who better to bait him with than the leader of the American people himself.

“Okay Mr. President. Everything will be fine.” Secretary Anderson said to him, sensing his nervousness and placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’re secure. PEIP is on site. Just read what I’ve prepared for you and when Wiggly shows up he’ll be shot on sight. He has a human body now, he’s vulnerable.” Howard just kept nodding, sweating, and not saying anything. “Mr. President?” He stopped, taking in a deep breath and giving a nervous smile.

“Yes. Sorry. Thank you, Mona. Just um… nervous I suppose.”

“No need to be nervous Howard. PEIP’s strongest is here. That sick son of a bitch isn’t getting anywhere near you. Just play your part and let us take care of the rest. We’ll get you back to Washington in one piece.” Lieutenant Roberts gave him a pat on the back and got into position.

“Remember you’ve already had a confrontation with him. He’s in our domain now. He can’t hurt you anymore now than he did then.” Anderson reminded him.

"Of course," Howard nodded. "Of course, you're right."

He took a deep breath and looked at Secretary Anderson, who gave him an encouraging thumbs-up. Another breath. He stepped up onto the podium, and picked up the manilla envelope containing the talking points of his address with shaky hands. One more deep breath. He'd be _fine_.

He slid the papers out of the envelope and leafed through, skimming the address. It seemed standard, nothing he wouldn't expect for a situation like this. Not that he would have ever expected a situation like _this_ , of course. At least they had a plan, he could count on few other surprises.

He glanced at the agents flanking him on either side, standing at attention. Down in front, the cameraman cleared his throat, getting Howard's attention.

"Ready, Mr. President?" He asked.

Howard flattened his hands forcefully on the surface of the podium. His finger tapped. He stole a glance at Secretary Anderson, and she gave a nod. He swallowed.

"Yes."

Howard could hear his heart pounding in his ears as the cameraman counted down, and the second he was live it stopped. He stared into the camera solemnly.

"My fellow Americans, this is President Howard Goodman." He began. "I stand here today in Hatchetfield, Michigan, the ground zero of what began as Black Friday riots, to speak to you about these frightening, dangerous times we are enduring. It has been one month and two days since... _Wiggly_ crossed into our domain."

A chill rushed through the room when the name was spoken. Howard's mouth went dry.

Anderson motioned for Howard to keep going as Lieutenant Roberts checked the surrounding area to see if any doors had been opened. With a team following, they exited the briefing room and into the halls. Hugging the walls and corners to make sure there were no surprises. While they weren’t expecting an attack this early into the address, they were still prepared nonetheless.

There were a few stray gunshots outside. Nothing out of the ordinary, just firing into the ground to scare off relatively harmless people who got a bit too close. City Hall didn’t have many other points of entry. If Wiggly were to come with a large crowd as they expected, this would have to be where he entered.

Roberts headed back to the briefing room, leaving agents throughout the hall to stand guard at various points.

That was when multiple gunshots were heard from the far side of the building.

“What the hell was that?!” He called out, rushing to check out the scene. He stopped to check in on the President, who evidently had also heard the gunshots. “Barricade the room. No one in.” The remaining agents nodded and shut the door as Roberts continued towards the shots.

Several agents poured into the hall as he rounded the corner, still firing in the direction of the first shot. He caught the sight of one agent clutching their arm where they appeared to have been hit, confirmed by the blood leaking through their fingers.

“Hendrix, what is it?!” He sat them on the ground out of the line of fire.

“It’s Agent Watson, sir! She just started firing at us from nowhere!”

“What?”

“It was her, and then Gray, and then Manning. More and more just followed the lead. It was like they went mad!” Hendrix winced through their teeth and clutched their arm tighter. “Sir, I… I don’t think Wiggly needs his followers to storm the building, _what if they’re already here. They’re us._ ”

There was a beat of shocked silence before the Lieutenant spoke his next words.

“PEIP has been compromised.” He said into his radio. “ **I repeat, PEIP has been compromised!** ”

At the podium, Howard's knuckles had turned white gripping the edges. He heard the radios of the agents flanking him crackle to life and deliver the Lieutenant's message, and his heart stopped. He locked eyes with Secretary Anderson, who was just as pale in the face as him. She glanced pointedly at the agents on guard.

Staying barricaded in there wasn’t an option anymore. Agent Reynolds moved first, taking Howard's arm and starting away from the podium. "Let's get you out of here, Mr. President-"

_Bang._

She was cut off by a bullet to the head, instantly collapsing. The other agent, Cooper, grinned behind a smoking gun. Howard stumbled, unable to move in any productive way as Cooper grabbed him by the back of his jacket and dragged him back to the podium, in front of the camera.

"Cut the feed, Jack, turn it off," Anderson ordered the cameraman.

_Click._

Cooper turned the barrel on Jack. He gulped, stepping away from the setup.

Lieutenant Roberts rushed back into the hall to find the president being held on camera by one of PEIP's own. Before he, or anyone else could think, could even conceive of a possible next step, _His_ laugh shook them all to their core.

" _HEHEHE-_ **_HIC!_ ** _HEHEHE-_ **_HIC!_ ** _HEHEHE-_ **_HIC!_ **"

A horrible, empty chill swept through Howard's bones at the familiar sound.

Swarmed by an entourage of half-human mutants, and the man in denim from the Black and White, in walked a man in a torn and ruined Christmas sweater, red and green with blood and slime, his hideous face twisted into a grin of dagger teeth. In a frenzy, the remaining agents advanced, bloodily discarded by his followers like they were nothing. The man - _Wiggly_ , walked with purpose, centering himself on the floor and grinning up at Howard, piercing him with those bright, empty doll eyes.

"Hello again, Mister Prezzy-Wez."

“I-It-It’s you…” He stammered out. This was different from the Black and White. Howard had been sure that Wiggly couldn’t have been more frightening now than he was then. Back then he was an infinitely sized entity that filled the void around him. Surely that had to be more terrifying than the body of a man. But the thing that was currently staring him down was no man, at least not anymore.

“How nice of you to visit me on my birthday~! We’re going to have lots of _f̵̻͗u̵̽n̸̛͗!̷̇̏”_ He laughed. “Not to worry, I brought plenty of friendy wends to help celebrate!”

Howard looked over to the Lieutenant, who was looking over at Wiley. His jaw was hanging and eyes wide.

“ _Cross?_ ” He whispered, catching the man’s attention. Wiley looked over and chuckled with that sly smile.

“Well damn, I should be touched y’all still remember me! Have to admit I am a little disappointed though. I mean, I thought it would be a lot harder to break through PEIP, but nope! Y’all are just as weak and empty as everyone else.”

Roberts went for his gun but before he could pull it he was jumped by those creatures. Ripping into him, cutting his screaming off with a sickening snap.

“It’s a damn shame.” Wiley continued. “I was hoping for more excitement.”

Secretary Anderson was already frozen, Howard could practically see the gears frantically turning behind her eyes as she desperately tried to come up with something to do. Wiley slunk beside her and wrapped his arm around her neck, not tight enough to cut off circulation, just enough to hold her in place, his hand clamping over her mouth. She trembled.

"S'alright, though," Wiley drawled. "This'll still be a mighty fine show." He nodded towards the cameraman. "You keep that feed rolling, Jack. Fact, why don'tcha zoom in? The people are gonna wanna see this."

Shaken, Jack did as he was told, focusing the live feed on Howard. With that, Wiley shot a glance at Wiggly, who bounced on the balls of his broken vessel's feet, clapping his claws like a child. He rushed up to the podium.

"P-please," Howard begged, knees buckling though the soldier held him upright. "W-we can- we can still negotiate, whatever you're going to do to me, _please_ reconsider-"

Wiggly giggled, grabbing Howard's face in both disgusting, rotted hands. His manic, multicolored eyes with tentacles peeking out peered into Howard's, studying him with an unsettling giddiness. From this angle, as Wiggly laughed in his face Howard could see little appendages dancing in the back of his throat before he closed his sharp teeth in a dark grin.

"My first present! I wonder what's inside..."

He shook Howard's head, listening intently like he could hear the man's brain rattling inside his skull. Reduced to stumbling dizziness, Howard felt himself released from Agent Cooper's grasp, but still held tight in Wiggly's hands.

"What do you think, Mister Prezzy-Wez? Shall I try to save the wrapping?"

"Wh-what?"

Blood welled and dripped down the sides of Howard's head as Wiggly's claws dug into his skull. His heart pounded.

"Oh, I'm too excited!"

Howard had no time to process the decision. Nobody did. All he felt was the piercing sting of Wiggly's fingers clawing deeper into his flesh, and a brief few moments of burning, overwhelming pain as his neck twisted and snapped sideways. All he heard was Wiggly's laugh rattling in his skull, as he choked on his own blood, his throat eviscerated as his head was ripped from his body.

Mona had shut her eyes, but she could _hear_ the tearing sounds as she felt blood splatter everywhere. She wouldn’t look, she _couldn’t_ look. She didn’t want to know. Or she did know, she just didn’t want it confirmed. The laughter, _His_ laughter, echoed even deeper as His followers began to mimic it.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. They were promised it would be safe. That they would be protected. That He would have been stopped. _This couldn’t have gone any worse_.

She could hear the footsteps approaching, smell His rancid breath as he leaned in to be nose to nose with her, still refusing to open her eyes, trembling in the grasp of her captor.

“Looks like someone is missing all the fun!” He tapped her nose. “Don’t worry though, we’ll play together later~”

He strode back in front of the camera looking directly into it, as if staring each individual viewer directly in the eye.

“Hello everyone~! My name is Wiggly! I think we’re going to be very good friendy wends! I do hope you all come visit me on my _birthday_ , don’t forget to bring gifts to the _party!_ Hehehe- _h̷i̶c̵_ H̴̲̲̺̍̑̃e̵̥̠̦͒h̷̳̥̔̂e̵̞̒ĥ̷͚̍͛̽ē̶͈ͅ- _h̸͇͐̾̈i̷̮̜͆ç̸̥͔̆̆̏͝ͅ_ **H̴̭̳̫̥͕̳̹͂̐̓̓̌̀̍ȩ̴̨͓̮̱̥̤͉͉̥̰͙̼̓̋͂͒̏͐͛̊͑͜h̷̻̯̓ḛ̶̛͍̓̌͆̽͝ḩ̷̲͎̹̮͇̈́́̓̓̕ē̸̢̛̺̲̻͓̞̮͙͌͒̉̑̂̈́͑ͅ -** **_h̶̡̠̲͉̐̎͗͊̋̀͠͝į̶̝̭̗̥̟̿̀̈͐͒́ͅc̸̦̔̎̓̅̓̈͌̚͝!_ **”

* * *

Back at Hidgens’, they had all left the rooms with TVs. They couldn’t turn it off or mute it. Just listen to the sound of the laughter creeping down the halls. The picture of the broken man some of them once knew tearing off the president’s head was burned into their eyes. Every time they closed their eyes they saw it again.

No one had seen Wiggly since that first night, he had only presented himself through sound until now. This was everyone’s first time _seeing_ what he had become. Now the whole world knows what he is. There was no more coming back from it.

It took everyone a moment to catch up with the shock. They all seemed to be clutching onto each other. Hannah 's hands were pressed over her ears, her eyes screwed shut as she rocked back and forth almost muttering something with Lex and Ethan on both her sides. Tim’s grip was tight on Tom’s shirt as he clung to his father, Becky wrapped around his back, making him feel safe in the embrace of two people.

“Alright, time to cut the shit. We need a plan and we need a plan _now._ ” Tom was the first to speak up.

“Tom I don’t think now is necessarily the best time-” Becky started, voice still shaking from the scene they had witnessed.

"If not now then when Beck? After he comes for us? After he hurts Emma? She's still there, we don't know what he's already done, but I'll be damned if I wait long enough to see her turn out like Goodman..." Emotion was leaking into his voice. Tom looked at all of them, seeing them look at him in a way they hadn’t before."I'm done hiding. I'm done _cowering_. Someone needs to step up.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, and Tom was ready to once again have no one on his side. Then Lex spoke up.

"Mr. Houston's right," she said. "The world leaders are fucked, and we have to... we've been... called to serve."

Tom glanced at her gratefully. "Alright. That's Lex and I for making a game plan, who's with us?"

There were no verbal answers, but quietly, beneath the thick shock still clogging the room, everyone came to the same page. Except Becky, who stayed looking down, unsure. Her hand held Tim's tight, the boy sitting next to her, pale in the face. Tom placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Beck?"

She looked up at him, eyes wide and shaky with fear. "I don't want anyone here to be put in danger."

"I know, Beck. But danger's everywhere right now. We can face it head-on and do the best we can, or keep on running while it gets worse. I know you're too strong to keep on running."

"Tom-"

"There's people out there who need help. If we can do anything, we should do something. Right, Miss Homecoming Charity Drive?"

Becky sniffed, smiling softly. "Right. You're right."

"Alright." Tom nodded and turned back to the group at large. "We have to get Emma the hell out of there, and we have to do it soon. That's top priority. I think we should circle back to Lex's idea about the resistance groups, too, see if we can team up."

“Well, if we’re going to do this, we need to be smart about it.” Hidgens started. “Call me a coward if you want but _I’m_ certainly not ready to leave the safety of my home quite yet. And if any of you leave you can’t come back here in case they follow you. We can’t make first contact with just _anyone_ , we need to research first, protect ourselves from prying eyes.”

“If you’re so worried about privacy on the internet then why do you have an actual corporate bug in your house?” Lex asked dryly.

“Oh, you mean Alexa?” At the sound of the name the robot pinged to life. “I re-engineered her to not send all my information back to her creators. They may have made the base model but she is truly my creation.”

“Wait, I thought you were a biologist?” Ethan asked, it wasn’t like he knew his uncle that well but he was _fairly_ certain he knew what he taught. “Not a- uh what’s the word? Experimentalist? No. Enigma?” 

“It's… _engineer_ . And a man can have many passions, Ethan!” Hidgens snapped, losing patience. “I digress… It will take time before we can verify our safety attempting this, which means the sooner we start planning, the better. I think we all are a tad… _shaken_ from tonight’s events. So I suggest we start in the morning.”

With that, the group dispersed. Hannah’s hands had still been clamped around her ears the entire time, trying to block out the screams. Her own head also going a mile a minute. For the first time in _weeks_ , she was receiving omens. Unsure if it was Webby or not, but positive it was not a bad force. So she kept her hands around her ears to listen to as much as she could without interruption.

Unaware of this, Lex knelt down next to her, softly placing a hand on her arm.

“Hey Hannah, it’s okay, it’s over now.” Hannah just pulled away from her. “Hannah what’s going on?”

“ _Holloway._ ” She said, almost pained.

“Huh?” Ethan crouched down next to them.

“Holloway.” Hannah said again, loosening her grip on herself. “That’s who we need to talk to. She’s safe. We need to reach out to her.”

“I don’t think reachin’ out to a stranger is the best thing right now…” Ethan said, still uneasy from what they had seen only a few minutes ago.

“No, _please_ you have to listen, I-I think it might be Webby!”

“Is Webby back?” Lex asked in a very serious tone.

“Maybe? I don’t know, but it’s right. It _feels_ right!”

“Okay…” Lex’s tone got softer as she smiled a bit and lightly rubbed Hannah’s arm. “We’ll bring it up to them tomorrow. It’s a good place to start.” She stood and looked at Ethan, who was staring off into blank space. “What’s up with you?”

“What?” He snapped back to reality and looked at her. “Oh, nothing it’s just… Holloway. Sounds familiar but I can’t place why.”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re in Hannah’s head.” Lex nudged his arm playfully, more in the way they used to. As if last night’s fight was forgotten.

“Yeah…” He creased his brow. “Maybe that’s it.” The three walked off. The name still a question lingering on Ethan’s tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I wonder what that could mean...
> 
> Feel free to reach out to us on tumblr @wigglypaulau-official


	16. do you want to play with me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which a crack is formed. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! This chapter is a Ride so I wont slow you down lol but cw for blood and injury

**[ 12/25/2018 | 9:36 PM ]**

Emma hadn't gotten any sleep at all that previous night. Not after Wiggly had gone live at midnight on the dot, ending his broadcast with saying that he would be "celebrating with a _very special_ buddy wud" later. Emma had assumed that meant her, because who else would it have meant? Was there anyone else he was as obsessed with as her? She stayed up the entire night in fear that the door would open, even after a decent amount of time had passed and she told herself that if he _did_ come for her that it would be later, she still didn’t sleep.

Evidently she had given herself too much credit (and she was _definitely_ not upset about not being that certain someone). When the TV in her room had turned on all by itself, she knew it was going to be bad. She knew Wiggly wanted her to see this. And while she didn’t really care either way for President Goodman, her heart sank when she saw him on screen. She turned away from the horror when she realized what was happening, but she could still hear it, _she could always still hear it_.

It had gone off air maybe 20 or so minutes ago, which meant Wiggly had finished whatever he had set out to do, which meant he was on his way back there. Emma hadn’t been this afraid of him since Black Friday. Over the course of the past few weeks she thought she had seen enough of him to be able to predict him. She thought she could be confident that he might not actually kill her as he hadn’t even physically harmed her yet. But after what she just witnessed she didn’t have any fucking clue what was going on in his head and she couldn’t predict his next move.

Her heart was racing and she was scrambling her brain for _any_ potential ways out, not that she hadn’t been doing that already for over a month, but she was in overdrive now. Fear was fueling her to pull together everything she had. She had already destroyed the mirror and tried to use the glass once, so she knew that wouldn’t work. Chairs, brooms, and just flat out running were also useless. Maybe she needed something heavy that she could actually lift and swing.

Then she remembered. Emma had seen in a movie once that a kidnapping victim had used the lid of a water tank from the toilet to ambush her captor with. It may have not been successful in the movie, but it was Emma’s only real shot. So she went for it, gave it a practice swing, and seemed easy enough. She always did have fairly strong arms, maybe this _could_ work. She paced the room with it, gripping it tight. Trying to think of what her next step would be if she was even able to reach the hallway.

Where would she even go? Back to her shitty apartment? To Paul’s? Both seemed like bad options if anyone were to go looking for her. Tom and Tim had made it out, had they ditched town? Were they holed up in the house? She’d probably check there first to find them. Then… maybe Hidgens? If he wasn’t too paranoid to even let her in at this point?

Anxiously adjusting her grip, her knuckles white, she tried to at the very least pace her breathing to her steps to keep herself level for now. It wasn’t working very well. 

It didn’t matter very much, though, when after what felt like hours of pacing and spiralling and _waiting_ , the door finally clicked and slid and _banged_ open. 

His eyes were painfully bright against the shadows of the doorway, his face stretched into a jagged, manic grin, splattered and drenched with blood and viscera. Everything that happened next felt like it happened in slow motion. 

He stepped through the door. 

“Hello again, Em-my!~”

He approached her. 

Emma’s heart rocketed into her throat, panic surging her forward with a yell.

She swung. 

The tank connected with his - _Paul’s, oh fuck, sorry_ \- skull. 

He spun out from the impact, teetering on his heel before collapsing in a heap on the floor.

_She did it._

Emma was frozen for half a second, unsure if the blood smearing his head was the president’s or… Paul’s. Unsure if she’d hit too hard. But sure, as her legs carried her in a frenzy out the door, that she had no time to check. Guilt weighed in her chest, but she kept moving, sprinting down the hall with the tank cover still in her grip, knowing this was the only chance she had. She couldn’t waste a second.

Adrenaline shooting through her, Emma swung with reckless abandon at the first set of hazy green eyes that entered her radius. She didn’t register who it was before they hit the floor and she had already rounded the corner. Everything that moved, Emma swung at, the sound of each impact barely reaching her through the panicked ringing in her ears. _She had to get OUT._

One figure swept into her field of vision, unmoving, and Emma managed to keep from swinging just long enough to register his familiar face. She skidded to a brief stop.

“Bill?!” 

He blinked at her, eyes green and heavy. “Emma?”

“Bill! Holy fuck, I can’t believe you’re here- C’mon, come with me! We can get out of here!” 

She reached for his arm to pull him with her, but he grabbed her hands instead, tilting his head like he was confused.

“Emma, what are you doing? It’s not safe out there!”

“It’s not safe _here_ , man!”

“It’s _much_ safer here. You should stay, away from all the mobs.” Bill squeezed her hands, gently, practically pleading with her. 

Emma glanced around frantically, spotting flashes of green fur and mutated limbs and glowing eyes creeping through the hallway, giggling and grinning at her. She looked back at Bill, whose bright eyes brimmed with concern. _He_ wasn’t going to hurt her. But if she stayed here much longer it wouldn’t matter.

“Bill, please-” She tried one more time, tugging on his arms, but he stayed put.

“Emma.” His voice was soft, like a father truly convinced this was what was best. “You should stay.”

That guilt grew heavier. She didn’t want to leave him behind, Paul would want them both to escape. But there was no time. 

“I’m sorry.” Squeezing her eyes shut, refusing to look at him, she wrenched her hands from Bill’s grip and kept running.

The more people (or rather monsters) she passed, the more kept backing away from her, _letting_ her run by. They weren’t chasing her anymore. _Why weren’t they chasing her?_

“HEHEHE- _HIC!_ HEHEHE- _HIC!_ ”

_Shit!_

He had to be _pissed!_ Whatever he had planned for her when he had entered that room was going to be a million times worse now that she’d knocked him out and made a break for it.

She could hear him advancing, Emma knew she wouldn’t be able to outrun him, his legs were longer and he probably had fucking demon speed or something. Her only hope would be to hide and hope he moves on long enough for her to find an exit. She tried opening various doors in the halls as she passed, all locked. Panicking, she saw a receptionist desk, if she pulled her legs in tight enough she might be able to get away with it. All of her guilt about Paul and Bill minimizing as she was overridden with the fear of being found.

“ _Emmyyyyy~_ Are we _finally_ playing a game together?” Wiggly called out as his footsteps slowed to a stop. “I don’t know if you can change it from tag to hide and seek, but I’ll allow it just this once.”

Emma clamped her hand over her mouth to quiet her heavy breathing so it wouldn’t give her away. She could hear his footsteps, agonizingly slow, _prowling_ around like he was on a hunt.

“ _Do you want to play with me? Love~ly girl, my love~ly girl_ ” Wiggly sang out in a disgusting sickly sweet voice as he wound in and out of the surrounding area.

Looking out across from her hiding spot, Emma saw a door. An _open_ door that led to a sound booth. It wasn’t very far, if Wiggly was facing the other direction and she kept low enough she would be able to reach it. The problem being she couldn’t see which way he was facing without coming out.

“ _Do you want your Paul-syy, my love-ly girl, my love-ly girl~_ ” His footsteps sounded further away and his voice sounded like it could be facing the other direction. Emma didn’t know if she’d have any other chance to escape her current fairly obvious hiding spot so she went for it. Keeping low and quiet but also with quick steps, she didn’t see him when she glanced behind herself but could still hear his voice echoing throughout the halls.

“ _Let’s play some games~ Let’s play some games today. Fun~ny games… Some fun~ny games today_ ” Once in the room she quickly scanned over it, she couldn’t really close the door behind her without alerting Wiggly that someone was in there. Inside the room there was a tall cupboard like closet, maybe at one point it was meant to store sound equipment or something. It didn’t matter now, it was big enough for Emma to hide in. She very slowly and quietly shut its door to conceal herself. She flinched as she heard something crashing nearby outside the halls.

“ _Em-myyyyyy~_ Come out and play with your _P̸͙̋ä̷͇́ͅu̷̖̽l̴̞̅̌ş̸͐͑ỳ̵͛ͅÿ̵͕͕̌y̴̨͖̓ẏ̴̛͇y̷̫̌ÿ̸͎̜́̋~_ ”

Emma clamped her hands over her ears, burying her lower face in her knees but keeping her wide eyes fixed on the door. Covering her ears didn't do much, she could still hear him.

"You hide very well, Em-my... But I'll find youuu!~"

Emma curled further in on herself. Fuck, fuck _fuck_ ... She was _fucked._ She held her breath. The chances of making it to the exit now were slim and growing slimmer. But if all she was doing was delaying the inevitable, she might as well delay it as long as possible. She tightened herself to total stillness, refusing to breathe, lest she make a single sound he could hear. She hoped, over and over in her head, that he would move on. That she would be able to make a break for it and get as far away from this fucking radio station as her legs would carry her.

It was what Paul would want. 

Her teeth clenched tighter. Paul. She hoped for him, too, though the thread he had was fraying like mad. The people had _seen_ him. Something about that, about knowing that all of America and probably the rest of the world, too, _knew_ what Wiggly's vessel looked like now, terrified Emma. They could come for him, and while she wanted _Wiggly_ gone as much as anyone, she doubted there was any way to kill him without killing Paul. She was one of the only people who knew that Paul was still _in there_. She had to get out, for herself, and for him. To protect him as best as she could.

The breath trapped in her lungs trembled, desperate to escape. Emma wished she'd gotten just one more minute with Paul. One more minute to say goodbye, to tell him she loved him, to make sure he never forgot, to say sorry. No matter what happened, if she was caught or if she escaped, she would probably never see him again now.

She hugged herself tighter, letting out a quiet, shaky exhale. She should have appreciated the quiet moments with Paul before they'd ended. The moments before every interaction was weighed down with despair. Emma trembled, _hating_ the reality that she would likely never spend another evening cozied up under soft blankets with him, listening to him talk about the movie they were watching. Never be able to kiss him goodnight again. Never wake up in his arms and feel that peace and contentment she'd felt with him. She would never look in his eyes - his _real_ eyes, that looked at her like she was the only thing he could clearly see, ever again. 

She wished they'd had more time. More moments to cling to. More hope.

Emma didn't realize she'd been hyperventilating, fighting back tears, until three sharp knocks banged on the closet door.

"You lose, Em-my!~"

Emma took in a sharp inhale upon hearing his voice. Blinded with fear, she grabbed for the lid and tried swinging out with it again. But he was prepared for her this time, catching it in his hands and throwing it away from her grasp.

“ **_Now that wasn’t very nice, w̴̳͈̅̐͝â̶̰̮̣̘̭s̵̡̝̞͗͗͠ ̸̱̺̹̽̔͂́̈́͝i̵̢̥̜̲̿̋̔̾ͅͅt̶̡̖̺̤̠͊?̵̢͓̻̟͚͍̭͋͆̕̚_ ** ” Wiggly almost _growled_ out.

Emma froze, staring at him she could see the damage done. The side of his face ( _Paul’s_ face) absolutely coated in a marble of green and red blood seeping down the side of his head. Maybe it was dented, she couldn’t quite tell with everything else going on.

This was it. There was no way he’d let her live now, not after she’d done _that_.

The second his hand grazed her arm was what shocked her back to reality. She tried to pull away, to bolt past him, but he was quicker and stronger. His hand gripped at her arm, digging his claws painfully into her skin as she cried out and was pulled back to him.

“Sssh, there’s no need to make a fuss.” He pulled her back to his chest, still gripping her arm and wrapping his other arm around her front to keep her in place.

“Let me _go!!!_ What the fuck do you even want from me?!” She tried to shake him off but the more she struggled the tighter the grip became.

“Calm down, Emmy. Surely you wouldn’t want to get the others involved. They might not be as nice after _what you d̴i̶d̸~̸_ ”

Emma thought about that for a second. The possibility of the others tearing her apart was high. Especially after not only hitting them, but also _Wiggly_ , there was no way they’d take it easy on her. But then again, she still had no idea what Wiggly had planned for her either. She continued struggling as Wiggly lifted her off the ground and began walking with her. If he was going to take her, she was going to be kicking and screaming the whole time, even if she was almost a foot off the ground after their height difference.

“It would be so much easier for everyone if you relaxed, including _Paulsy~_ You’re making him _very_ upset, you know. It’s hard for him to watch.”

_Paul_.

“PAUL!! Paul, wake up!” If there was even a small chance that Paul was awake and could hear her, that he could maybe fight and take over long enough for her to make a mad dash to the exit, she had to try to reach out to him. “Paul _please_ help me!”

Wiggly just laughed at her. “ _Cute~_ You still think after all this time that that’s how it works!”

Emma’s struggle was getting weaker now as she realized it was getting more and more hopeless. As she was carried through the halls she continued to call out for Paul even though part of her knew he wasn’t going to wake up. If this wasn’t enough to wake him up then what would be? Wiggly opened the door to her room (that _same damn room_ she’d been locked in for well over a month) and let her go, shutting the door behind them.

Emma didn’t even move away, she just fell to the floor and collapsed in on herself with heavy sobs. That had been her chance, her _one goddamn chance_ at escaping, now here she was, exactly where she started. At the mercy of a monster who was probably going to kill her for what she had done.

Her eyes fixated on the ground, a small pool of Paul’s blood from where he had hit the ground stained her vision. She cried harder.

How could she have _hurt_ him like that?

Could Emma have noticed Wiggly's eyes tracking her gaze, she might not have been so caught off guard by what came next.

"You were going to leave me,"

Her breath froze as Wiggly spoke, painfully quiet and resigned and convincing, in Paul's voice. It wasn't him. She _knew_ it wasn't.

"Why were you going to leave me here?" His hand clamped around her arm, desperate and pleading. "All alone, to suffer? To rot and _die?_ I... I thought you loved me, Emma. You hit me so hard. You didn't even check to see if I was okay. You could have _killed_ me, would you have even cared?"

It _wasn't_ him. But hearing his voice, speaking her guilt out loud and sounding so _hurt,_ only made Emma feel worse. How could she know he didn't really feel that way? How could she feel like she didn't deserve it? She couldn't. She could only cry harder, weak under the weight of the fear and guilt. She _knew_ that Paul was capable of feeling pain even in his headspace, he had _told_ her that, so why did she do it? What must he think of her now?

She couldn't even hold herself up anymore. She curled into herself on the floor, shaking beneath her sobs. She was never getting out of here. This was it, now or later, she was going to die here. And Paul would probably never forgive her. And she hated, _hated_ how weak she was letting herself be in front of her tormentor. But it was all too much, everything he'd put her through had finally reached the tipping point and she couldn't take it anymore. Her hands clenched into trembling fists, nails scrabbling at the ratty carpet.

She tensed when she suddenly felt a hand on her back.

"Shh, Em-my,~"

His clawed, mangled, bloody hand rubbed circles over her back in a sick mockery of comfort. The fight in her was exhausted. She didn't move or even try to flinch away, she just lay there and sobbed. She felt him reach down and move a lock of hair behind her ear, stuck with sweat to her forehead. All she could do was turn her face away from him, buried into the carpet.

"There, there," He murmured, his claws raking lightly over her arm. "Cry your little tears, Em-my. Soon there will be none left at all.~"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no.... poor Emma...


	17. you gotta step into the black and white

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ in which friends are made and a blockage is found. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE BACK!! It's a larger one at like 4.3k words plus it's a good time to finish this chapter because now we get to add lore without it being too spoilery for Nightmare Time lol, have fun!

**[ 12/26/2018 | 11:26 PM ]**

When night fell over Hatchetfield, the small island was silent. Those in hiding huddled together and held their breath, lest the tiniest sound give them away to the green-eyed followers that may be lurking the streets, ready to grab any remaining nonbeliever they spotted. Everyone found it hard to sleep nowadays, especially after the Christmas broadcast had served as the final needed wakeup call that this wasn't just going to go away. That anyone and everyone was in danger. That no one was coming to save them. 

Many, consumed by their fear, were ready to give up. But a strong few held on to their hope, only beginning their resistance as they hid in the shadows.

While civilization waited in silence, deep in the Hatchetfield witchwood, the night was home to prowling beasts. The droning, singsong howl of a pack of shadowy timberwolves filled the darkness, accompanied by the hooting of owls from up in the jagged branches, watching below with big, purple eyes. The air was hauntingly still, the sky starless, only the silver-white shine of the moon to cast light over the woods.

And at the center of a small clearing, beneath a shabby, makeshift tent, Duke Keane and Miss Holloway sat on either side of a little, flickering campfire.

"This should be a fine setup," Miss Holloway said, brushing a hand through her messy hair with a sigh. "Be easier if I had my candle, but we could only grab so much."

She reached behind her and picked up the Black Book. That was the important thing - as long as she had the book she had its power. She laid it on her lap and drew her palm over the cover. Her eyes were tired.

"Now, Duke, I have to put myself under to enter the Black and White." She tapped the book. "You're set to keep watch for the both of us, right? I don't know how long this'll take."

Duke nodded, clutching his weapon in his hand. He didn’t like holding a gun, it felt wrong. But they didn’t really have another choice to protect themselves, especially if Holloway was going under. This was too important.

“Just be careful, getting through to Hannah will be tough, with all of this going on she’s probably blocked everything out. You might run into Webby in there, I don’t know anything about her, Hannah told me she was good but we can’t trust that. She could be like Wiggly, and she’s probably going to be really protective of Hannah regardless if she’s good or bad.” Duke laid out what information he had for her.

He was worried about her. Hannah had mentioned seeing and hearing certain things, but he had always assumed she just had an extremely active imagination. She was worried about Black Friday, saying that Wiggly was bad and that Webby had told her to stay away. Duke didn’t know who Webby was. Maybe she could help them if she came from the same place as Wiggly, but they needed to check in on Hannah first.

“Any idea where she might be? I can start looking in certain locations first, it might speed it up.”

“I dunno. We know her and Lex aren’t home. I don’t think they would have made it out of town with Lex working at Toy Zone. Lex has a boyfriend, maybe his place? I think his dad owns a garage.”

"That's a fine enough place to start," Miss Holloway said, flipping the book open to the spell she needed. "Wish me luck."

Duke reached out and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "Good luck."

Miss Holloway smiled softly. "Oh, and Duke? Keep an extra careful eye out for the bears."

A little bewildered, but knowing better than to question her, he nodded. Miss Holloway laid her palm flat on the book's page and began murmuring to herself in an ancient, undecipherable language, her eyes closed tightly in focus. Slowly, her body fell slack where she sat, her head hanging forward loosely as her mind left this dimension of Hatchetfield and entered the in between, a hallway of sorts between existence.

The Black and White could be experienced in many forms. A void of pure blackness, or much more rarely, pure whiteness, perhaps. Miss Holloway, standing from where she sat, found herself in a version of the Hatchetfield witchwood drained of color, composed entirely of shades of grey, black, and white. The image of Duke sat frozen at her feet, their campfire perfectly still. With a breath, she began her hike from the campsite and out of the woods into town, a trek much quicker for one existing between dimensions. The Black and White noted her anticipated destination and moved the world to carry her to it, until she was walking the sidewalk of a frozen, empty, colorless downtown Hatchetfield.

Once reaching town, Miss Holloway could feel the block that had been keeping Hannah from accessing the dimension. It made the air feel heavier the further she walked, every step growing gradually slower, like something was trying to push her back. Balling her hands into clenched fists, Holloway focused hard on every step to keep herself moving, managing to balance out the invisible barrier with her own power, heading for the local garage.

"Hannah?" She called, to the hollow sound of a canned echo ringing through the town. "Can you hear me?"

Nothing. Not even a pulse of energy. The place was a ghost town (both literally and metaphorically). She could feel around the space, living souls connected to the Black and White. The radio station wasn’t nearby but it wasn’t far off either, Holloway could feel the threatening energy it gave off from where she was, a warning to anyone connected not to come close. A precaution, she assumed, lest anyone had any ideas about trying to reach out to Wiggly’s prisoner. Hannah couldn’t be anywhere near this area, with the field of energy the station gave off, they would have weeded out any connected individuals nearby and captured them by now, and there was no reason to believe Hannah had been captured.

Holloway branched out further away from the station, walking around the energy as it was unlikely anyone would be close to it. She could feel traces, things vaguely connected to this plane, whether it be an object, a creature, or a person, none of them strong enough to be Hannah, who she knew from Duke’s description was fully connected. She kept calling out for Hannah, hoping she was close enough to be able to hear.

“Hello?” A voice responded.

“Hello!” Holloway replied. “Who’s there? Hannah? I’m here to help!”

Whoever it was didn’t respond, but she could feel them coming closer, an outline began to form. From the height alone she could tell it obviously wasn’t Hannah. And their presence felt… different. Not threatening like the station, but almost more as if it were more deeply ingrained to the Black and White than just someone with abilities. They came fully into view now, a man dressed in all black, with a military beret. Shoulder length hair and a beard framed his chiseled face.

“Stay back.” Holloway warned him. “I said who are you?”

“I’m General John Mcnamara of the United States Military.” She was still tense, standing defensively and not taking her eyes off him. He held out his hands. “It’s okay, you can relax. I’m not going to hurt you if you don’t hurt me.”

“You from PEIP?” Her brow creased as she looked at him.

“How did-?”

“Sorry,” She laughed a little bit, realizing that no explanation might have startled him. “Let’s just say I used to know someone from there and you dress pretty similar. Also what other branch of the military would even know  _ about _ the Black and White, let alone be able to get in here.”

“Are you PEIP?”

“No, but I’m pretty connected and you guys like to keep poking around in here. So I do notice, you aren’t as sly as you think you are.” She held out her hand to him. “Jean Holloway. But, Holloway works just fine.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Holloway.” Mcnamara shook her hand

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, it’s not everyday you see someone walking around as a full body apparition in the Black and White.”

“I’m… trying to find someone.”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve seen anyone else around this area.”

“Yeah,” Miss Holloway sighed, “that’s about where my problem is. She should be able to hear me at least, but I don’t think she can. Something’s blocking her access to this plane, I’m here to try and help her reach it.”

“Ah,” McNamara nodded sagely. “You’re looking for a Gifted one.”

Miss Holloway blinked, unsure why she was surprised, of course a PEIP General would have some knowledge of what she was talking about. She just hadn’t heard it referred to so plainly in a very long time.

“Yes,” She nodded. 

“I believe I’ve been experiencing the exact blockage you’re referring too, Miss Holloway. It is most certainly Wiggly’s doing. I was able to reach out to his vessel for a short time, but I was intercepted and haven’t been able to reach him since. I’ve been searching for a pair of Gifted myself, but I doubt Wiggly is allowing anyone with even the slightest connection to this realm to access it very easily.” McNamara paused pensively, gazing at Miss Holloway with slight untrusting reservations. “Again, you’ll understand my surprise to find you here.”

“I’m sorry, General, you’ve spoken to the vessel?” Miss Holloway asked in disbelief.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She narrowed her eyes curiously. “How long have you _ been  _ here?”

He sighed, casting his gaze downward as he recalled the traumatic memory.

“I’m unsure exactly how much time has passed out there. It’s possible I’ve only been here for a few days, it’s equally as possible that I’ve been here for years. I’ve been here ever since that fateful Black Friday.”

“General,” Holloway gasped. “That was over a  _ month  _ ago. You should have returned to your body by now, how are you  _ still  _ here?”

“I don’t…  _ have _ a body anymore. I stepped through a portal and my essence was absorbed into the Black and White.”

“I’m… so  _ sorry. _ ” Holloway was at a loss for words. She was very experienced when it came to the Black and White, but she had never known what a portal would do to somebody. Or she did know, but that person was still able to hold physical form, he wasn’t  _ absorbed _ like McNamara had been. “I can’t imagine how painful that must have been.”

“It’s all in the past now. I can continue my work from here, and that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. I believe other Gifted individuals are still present here, even in the lightest sense. They are just hiding in plain sight, and their abilities are being blocked from reaching any deeper. Tell me, Miss Holloway, who is this person you are trying to reach? Perhaps with the two of us together we’ll be able to break through the invisible barrier.”

Ms. Holloway paused for a moment before swallowing her doubt. This man seemed trustworthy enough. 

“I’m looking for a girl named Hannah Foster.”

The General blinked, eyes wide. “The Fosters,” he repeated vaguely. Even his reactions were cryptic.

“Hannah has a sister, yes,” Miss Holloway said slowly, a little caught off guard.

“I’ve been searching for the Fosters as well.” McNamara said with a stiffly formal nod. “Before my essence was completely absorbed and I was better able to hold my corporeal form, I briefly reached Lex in an attempt to set her towards preventing Wiggly’s ‘birth.’ Evidently I was too late for my efforts to mean anything.” He glanced down and cleared his throat. “She and her sister are safe, though, I can still feel their presence. The difficulty is in locating them.”

“Well, I suppose there’s extra sense in us working together.” Miss Holloway stuck out her hand for the General to shake again. “Have you found any leads as to where they might be? Seeing as you’ve been here… a while.”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”

“Of course. We might as well just keep wandering.”

McNamara didn’t object. The two carried on their search well down the block, further into town.

The longer they walked, the more Miss Holloway felt that something was… missing. Like a spot on the map had been scrubbed clean. Something she couldn’t quite grasp, despite her intimate knowledge of Hatchetfield. The blockage was powerful enough to alter this reality, as well as reach inside her mind to keep her from being able to even fully register what was missing. Wherever it was, it had to be where Hannah and her sister were - how could they possibly be reached when their location couldn’t even be seen?

This was going to be much harder than she’d anticipated.

The Black and White felt so empty and cold, and Holloway suddenly so acutely aware of it. It was as if the dimension was trying to goad her out in discomfort, get her to give up her search before it had barely begun and return to her body. Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she rolled her shoulders back and stood straighter. She’d dealt with far, far worse.

And then the grey sky was swept in an eerie, pitch black, the empty air picking up into a harsh, greenish wind.

Holloway spun to the General, whose gaze was turned upwards with solemn, stern eyes.

“General?”

McNamara didn’t speak. But somebody else did, his cocky, laid-back drawl carrying an echo over the empty town.

“ _ Well hiya, John. Jean. _ ”

“What are you doing here, Cross?” McNamara sternly asked, not wasting any time.

Wiley materialized in front of them now, coming out of the air and standing in the middle of the street they were on. He looked exactly the same as the last time he and McNamara had had a confrontation. Same greased back hair, same denim, same shit eating grin.

“Big green guy could feel y’all poking around in here," He gestured up towards the sky, as if Wiggly was watching over them as they spoke. "I’m just seeing what all the fuss is about. And what do I find? Two little goody goodies getting their noses in everyone else’s business.”

“We’re not trespassing on your grounds, Wiley. We’re nowhere near the station.” Holloway tried to dismiss him, wanting to get on with her objective. McNamara shot her a look, seeming a little shocked that she knew who he was, even more so at using his new alias. He supposed it made sense though if she knew the Black and White as well as she appeared to.

“Oh I’m not talkin’ ‘bout the station. I know what you’re tryin’ to do. What, you think you can gather some Gifted folks to try to raise some hell? It’s over! Wiggly’s here! And he ain’t going nowhere.”

“That’s a double negative, it would imply he _ is _ going somewhere.” McNamara pointed out.

“Oh would you just shut the hell up! God, you always were so pretentious, up on your high horse, but look who’s laughing now!" Wiley cackled, slapping his own knee in a caricature fashion. "Whatcha gonna do without a body, John? Try to give a pep talk to the Vessel? Look how well that turned out for you and him.”

“If you’re so confident then how come you came here? Obviously you’re afraid we might stumble across something.” Holloway called him out, she was tired of hearing his bullshit. He was obviously up to something if he was here.

Wiley’s lips curled up into a smug grin, that insufferable chuckle still residing in the back of his throat.

“Oh, Jeanie, darlin’, I don’t give half a shit what you find in here. It’s about what might find you.” He said, green eyes glinting. “Big guy don’t like folks who don’t belong pokin’ around in His domain too long. He gets fed up it won’t be good news for either of you. Johnny’s already on some damn thin ice for the shit he pulled with old Paul - his continued existence here is a mercy.”

Holloway glanced at McNamara, his gaze fixed on Wiley with unreadable stoicism. What had he already done? Her attention snapped back to the denim-clad lunatic before them when he spoke again.

“Now, y’all ain’t reaching any Gifted here, don’t matter what any of us do. But you can still save your own hide, Miss Holloway. All you gotta do is quit fuckin’ around where you don’t belong, and start usin’ some’a that power you got for somethin’ a little more productive.”

Miss Holloway gaped in shock. The audacity of this nutcase, to even suggest such a thing. They’d nearly killed each other over this before, in another time. Wiley should have died, had it not been for that tentacled monster pulling him into this domain before it was too late. Had Miss Holloway just managed to finish the job first. Her jaw set and she glared at him, keeping her breath steady despite the rage boiling inside her.

“You and the abomination you’ve made yourself a lapdog for can dream on, Wiley.” She spat.

Wiley chuckled, that glint in his eyes flashing again. “Suit yourself, darlin’.”

With that, Wiley faded out. A low rumbling shook the ground where Holloway and McNamara stood, their surroundings spun as the town around them changed scenery. They were no longer in the street, but in the witchwoods, on the other side of where Holloway had started. Wiley had reset them with no idea where they even were or how close to town.

“Shit!” Holloway stomped her foot. “Where are we supposed to look now?”

McNamara was quiet, not showing a reaction to her outburst. He looked off in the distance, brow creased in thought.

“General?”

“Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“The energy.”

“It’s probably just traces from the shake up to throw us off course”

“No. This is different. It’s like the radio station, that same threatening energy warning people to keep out. But where is it coming from?” McNamara started to walk off in seemingly no direction, almost as if following someone’s voice.

“I don’t…  _ feel _ anything over here except…” Holloway paused, feeling around the area with her mind. “It’s almost as if… there’s a gap. I don’t feel  _ anything _ in that direction, but there should be. Hell, even if it was just trees I’d be able to tell, but there’s nothing. Why?”

“It seems like someone is trying to cover something up.”

“It’s like a giant inter dimensional keep out sign. But you wanna know something about me, General?” She shot him a smile. “Keep out signs only ever made me wanna enter more.”

“That’s something we have in common.” He gave her a smile back.

They pressed on, pushing through the negative energy trying to keep them at bay.

“So what’s your history with Wiley back there?” Holloway asked.

“He used to be my mentor, Wilbur Cross. He  _ used _ to be a good man, I’d like to hope that maybe the madness of the Black and White just got the better of him and that he’s still in there. Maybe that’s just who he always was, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.” He sighed. There was a solemn moment of silence between them, almost as if John was mourning. “How do you know him?”

“Well-”

**_BOOM_ **

Everything shook. Holloway and McNamara were knocked to their feet.

**_“IT ISN’T VERY N̶IC̶̰͚͈͓̬̑̓̕͘E TO TAKE A PEEK AT SOMEONE’S SEĊ̶͙̱̤̳͗̋̈́͐͠R̷̬̗͍͔̞͙͋̿̓̄͘ͅEṪ̸̛̤̜̖̳̥͇̺̇̐̚S_ ** **G̴̢͚̜̘̬̔E̷̡͎͎̫̼͇͖̟̲̙͒̈́̇̈̅͛ͅN̵̢̧̛̘̙͈̰͍̹͎̗̽̒̕E̷̢̙̱͍̩̦͆̀͗̈́̾͛̊̕̕͘R̶̢̮͕̭͈̹͎̣͖͓̎̐͛̆͋Â̵͈̤̦͗͌̃͗̿̌͘͝L̴̗̻͕͚̋͆** ”

Wiggly’s voice boomed around them, Holloway covered her ears to muffle the deafening volume. He appeared before them simply as a pair of glowing spotlight eyes and a mass of tentacles. The appendages lifted McNamara off the ground, bringing him up eye to eye. Holloway tried to dart pass but was pinned to the ground by one.

**_“I WAS NICE ENOUGH TO LET YOU GO TWICE, EVEN AFTER YOU UPSET MY LIT-TLE VES-SEL. BUT THIS IS STRIKE T̸̢̖͖̦̳̄̍͑̕͘͜H̷̺͆̆̈́̾́̒̚R̶̩̙͋̌͌͐E̷̦̪͘Ę̸̛̔͛͒͛̍̚.”_ **

His grip on John tightened. Holloway lifted her head off the ground to see past him. There were 3 glowing auras in the distance. Close enough that she could feel them.

_ Hannah. _

“You can’t keep everything here locked up, Wiggly.” McNamara gasped for air as the grip tightened. “You know as well as I do that there are other beings that inhabit this plane. Sooner or later they’ll get fed up with your greed.”

Wiggly growled as his eyes flashed brighter. His grip on Holloway loosened as he became too distracted by the General and she was able to push him off. She made a break for it.

Wiggly though, not completely forgetting about her, shot out another tentacle, wrapping around her ankle and tripping her.

**_"DON'T THINK I'VE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU,B̴̡͚̫̱͐̊̓Ò̸̜̆O̸̢̥̯̖K̴̘̓K̶̥̲̫̻̎̚E̵̖̰̣̔̅͐̐ͅE̷̅̎ͅP̸͖̭̺̖̐̈́E̶̦̜̗͆͆͜Ṛ̸͎͋̀̊͜. I'LL TAKE BACK WHAT'S MINE."_ **

She just needed to get close enough to slip into Hannah's mind, the General would understand if she had to leave him behind, seeing as he couldn't leave this plane anyways.

Wiggly was pulling her back towards him, she dug her nails into the ground. Shit! If she still had the Black Blade she'd be able to cut through him and free herself, another thing she can thank Wiley for. There was one thing she could try, but it would take a lot of her energy and limit what time she had left before she woke up. And if it didn’t work she’d return to her body with no progress and a huge target on her back. It was her only shot though.

She started reciting an energy spell she had memorized from the Black Book. Her eyes began to glow and she focused her hand at her ankle where she was held. Light shot from it, burning Wiggly and forcing him to retract. She couldn’t waste any time. She beelined for Hannah’s glow.

“Hannah!” She called out, hoping that catching her attention would make it easier to slide into her head. However, she was thrown off course by an invisible obstacle, hurtling her towards the side.

_ “Oh lit-tle miss Holloway… Did you really think you could just enter the mind of a Claimed that easily?” _ Wiggly taunted her.

What!? She was  _ Claimed _ !? Duke had mentioned Hannah knew a fair bit about the workings of the Black and White and what inhabited it, but Holloway thought he only wanted to check up on her, not that she could be  _ Claimed. _ ”

“Jean, you need to-” McNamara tried to call out before being cut off again.

**_“QUIET! YOU’VE CAUSED ENOUGH TROUBLE!”_ **

She could feel herself fading, she didn’t have much time left. With no other options, she leapt towards the aura towards her left. She could hear Wiggly scream as she entered whoever’s mind this was.

\--

It was black. Whoever’s mind Holloway was in wasn’t really like any she had been in before. It almost felt more like the Black and White itself. But it couldn’t be because if she was still there then Wiggly would still be after her. So where was she?

Wiggly’s screams still echoed here even though he was nowhere to be found, whoever this was must be connected to him somehow.

“Hello?” A voice called out. “Who’s there?”

“Hello?” Miss Holloway called back. “My name is Miss Holloway! I’m- I’m here to help!”

Silence, just for a moment. Then someone walked out from the blackness, his figure faded like a ghost. A teenager, with black curly hair and a leather jacket. Pale, almost corpse-like complexion. Miss Holloway squinted against the shadows, recognition striking her.

"Ethan? Little Ethan Green?"

He frowned at her skeptically, the ghost of his form flickering like a bad TV signal. "You the Holloway Hannah was talkin` about?"

“Yes! Yes, I was looking for Hannah, but I can’t reach her. Could you help me?”

“Lady, I ca- ….. fuckin- … -ear you." 

Holloway's heart pounded, her fists clenching like she could hold on to this connection before it was ripped away. She didn't have the time she needed. She could see herself flickering out too, the mental connection being disrupted moments after it was gained. She'd be shoved back into her waking body very soon. She took a breath and got out everything she could.

"Hannah needs help, Ethan. Wiggly's got his eye on her. You and Lex can help her, keep her safe, help her reach Webby. She needs you both. Keep her close and stay together, and I'll- I'll do what a can. I’ll try to find you in the physical world to give you the help you need!"

She couldn't know how much she managed to get to him without cutting out, but it didn't matter. Her vision went black and her eyes flew open, finding herself back in the woods with Duke.

He gripped her shoulder when she gasped. "Hey, you okay? How'd it go, did you reach her?"

Holloway looked out towards the town. "I hope so."

Meanwhile, through the woods and safe in the bunker, Ethan woke with a start and met eyes with Lex at his door. She gripped the frame, eyes tired but wide, and knew that someone had reached out to him, too.

“Lex, what-?”

“It’s weird…” She started. “It was like- like the army guy I saw from before was there, but I couldn’t really hear him.” She was shaking. Ethan guided her to sit on the bed with him. “He kept… flashing in and out of my sight, screaming and fighting like he was being pulled away and I- I don’t know what he was trying to say.”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Listen, uh, I think we all need to have a talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, check us out on tumblr @wigglypaulau_official!


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